Not 5 By 5
by Indygodusk
Summary: Everyone knows that Sentinels who don't have all 5 senses enhanced are inferior and to be pitied. Everyone also knows that Guides can only bond to one Sentinel. Too bad Phil Coulson never got that memo (rather, he doesn't trust a memo unless it's in triplicate and labeled with the appropriate clearance codes). Now if only he could get Clint and Natasha to believe him.
1. Chapter 1

**Not 5 By 5**

A Marvel Cinematic Universe / Avengers Fanfic by _Indygodusk_

Chapter 1

Unbuttoning the top button of his black dress shirt, Phil Coulson tried to smolder attractively at his reflection. A bland-faced, middle-aged man with a light tan, thinning brown hair, and brown eyes stared back at him. He smoldered harder. Now he looked like a grumpy cat with indigestion.

Sighing, Phil stopped smoldering and redid his shirt button. "You are too old to be this ridiculous," he muttered. Turning sideways, he patted his flat stomach, "Still fit as a fiddle though, thanks to diet and exercise—" _and alien mystery goo_ , he finished in his head.

He'd only survived a spear cleaving through his heart because of experimental technology and alien biomatter, but the more he learned of the top secret procedure, the more disturbing it got. Phil didn't like talking about his alien resurrection. Even watching the fourth _Alien_ movie was preferable.

"You are indeed a handsome and fit man, Guide Coulson," said Jarvis in plummy tones from the hidden speakers in the ceiling. When Tony built the building, he gave his AI, Jarvis, free access to every square inch of it.

"Thank you, Jarvis." After a year of living in Avengers Tower, Phil had finally stopped jumping in surprise or reaching for a weapon when Jarvis unexpectedly spoke in an otherwise empty room.

Unfortunately, being fit, stubborn, doggedly loyal, and imminently competent didn't mean much when you were trying to catch the eye of a superhero. Especially when you were just a retired secret agent with a closet full of suits, walls full of Captain America memorabilia, and a DVR full of reality TV shows. Phil still needed all the help he could get to win at love before he got any older or somebody died in a firefight.

With those thoughts in mind, he undid his top button again, rolled his sleeves up his forearms, and switched to a belt with a bright silver buckle. Daisy, a friend and former SHIELD teammate, had commiserated with him over the difficulties of trying to date coworkers and suggested the look, teasing, "it'll bring all the milkshakes to the yard." Phil wasn't interested in ice cream (even a year after binging on all 31 _Baskin Robbin_ flavors with Steve he still got gurgles just thinking about it) or limiting himself romantically to women (he'd accepted his bisexuality at 35), but he appreciated the sentiment. Adjusting his collar one last time, he threw back his shoulders and left his suite.

As Phil passed the door for the stairs on his way to the elevator, he heard voices echoing up the stairwell. They sounded tense. Phil paused to listen, identifying after a moment the voices of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers.

"I just don't understand what the big deal is, Stevie." Barnes sounded fed up, his syllables clipped.

Curiosity piqued, Phil tried to breathe as quietly as possible so they wouldn't notice his eavesdropping with their enhanced senses.

"It's complicated," Steve said hesitantly. It wasn't a tone Phil was used to hearing from her.

"Seems simple to me. That horse has already bolted out of the barn door. We're bonded, Guide to Sentinel, man to woman. Why do you insist on hiding?" Barnes argued. "Do you think they'll respect you less? Give you grief for hiding another secret? Or," his tone turned flat, "is it me and my past that's the real hold up?"

"Bucky, no," Steve protested, the rest of her words becoming too faint to hear as they moved farther away from Phil's floor.

Frowning, Phil continued on to the elevator. He had his own opinions on the situation, but neither of them had asked for it. He just hoped they could work it out without too many more hurt feelings.

Of course, he had his own relationships to work out. For years, he'd admired and respected Hawkeye and Black Widow. At some point, that admiration had turned to love for Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov, and then morphed into desire and longing for Clint and Nat. Their friendship meant a lot to him. He'd worked hard over the years to earn their trust, but he hadn't felt like he could or should reveal his heart.

Then he'd gotten stabbed through the heart and died (temporarily).

Right now, Phil wasn't higher in rank or a supervisor, so there was no danger of abusing his authority. Plus, they were all single right now, so he didn't have to worry about being a homewrecker (though it made him sad that they'd broken up again, despite the love they obviously still shared).

However, when not together, Natasha and Clint had their pick from the best of the best romantic partners out there. Phil was merely a friend and former handler, someone often described as unflappable and inoffensive. It had been a mien he'd cultivated for years that had served him well professionally, but on the romantic front it was worse than a first date with spinach stuck in their teeth and garlic breath who talked incessantly about their ex. The odds of one of them, much less both, suddenly becoming attracted to him after all this time and falling in love was ridiculously small.

Phil's only consolation was that he'd taken on bad odds and lost causes before and come out the victor.

It would be easier if he only desired one of them, but he'd fallen in love with them as a couple. He wanted and loved them both in different but overwhelming ways and greedily wanted to become a permanent threesome where they all took care of each other until old and (more) gray or until they died together in a blaze of saving the world glory.

Unfortunately, after a year of living in the same building and unsuccessfully trying to win them over, he felt like his odds were smaller than ever. He kept pushing his feelings aside to focus on the current crisis, but the Avengers were always chasing a conflict. There was no perfect time to share his feelings.

Phil had never had any illusions that this would be easy. They were like shining stars and he was firmly rooted to the Earth, but on the advice of Captain America, Phil's friend and lifelong hero, he was going to keep trying for his dreams and see if they'd meet him halfway. Reaching for the stars didn't seem completely impossible anymore, since aliens and pagan gods walked the earth. Phil had several on speed-dial.

They all even lived in the same building. He could go down right now to the common room and flirt over their choice of breakfast food. Before he could second-guess himself, Phil hit the elevator button for the Avengers' public floor.

Walking into the common room, Phil saw Clint across the room. He was sitting on the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal and emanating more vitality than young men half his age. His dark blond hair looked attractively tousled. The thick muscles in his shoulders and arms narrowed to a trim waist and strong legs that were currently curled up on the narrow counter at angles that made Phil's hips and knees twinge in sympathy. Growing up in the Circus had done amazing things for the archer's flexibility.

Clint had a smile on his face as he nodded along to something said by a widely gesticulating Thor.

Blinking, Phil did a subtle double take. Yes, it was Thor. The Prince of Asgard hadn't been around since Phil had moved into the tower, too busy with his own duties and troubles to assist the Avengers with theirs. It would be good to have him back on the team.

In the empty living room the TV had been left on to a documentary about the Amazonian rainforest. Despite the brightly colored plants and creatures flashing across the screen, Phil found his eyes magnetized to the sight of Clint curled up on the kitchen counter.

"Good morning," Phil said, pushing past his natural reserve to send Clint a soft and hopefully inviting smile.

Freezing with his spoon halfway to his mouth, causing it to dribble milk and cereal onto his thigh, Clint simply stared at Phil. His blue eyes dilated to black as their gazes locked, neither blinking. The force of Clint's attention felt like standing in a shaft of sunlight.

Phil's mental shields wobbled, forcing him to notice the emotions in the room. Clint's feelings lapped at Phil's mind, a confusing mishmash of want and denial, inadequacy and determination. Thor, in contrast, just felt happy and hungry.

Letting out a slow breath, Phil counted to ten and resisted the urge to use his Guide gifts more invasively to figure out what was going on with Clint. Doing something like that felt unethical. Plus it would probably give him a migraine, since even after over a year and a half of being Online he could still get overwhelmed by the barbs of other people's emotions. Phil shored up his mental defenses, muting the emotions from a shout to a buzz.

As Clint continued to stare, Phil began to wonder if Clint was falling into a zone. The downside of Clint's Sentinel enhanced eyesight was the risk of focusing too hard and getting lost in it, zoning out into a state that could easily slip into a coma if left too long.

Stepping forward, Phil reminded himself to stay professional as he prepared to use his training to guide Clint back to himself. He'd just taken another course on Sentinel and Guide gifts a month ago. Since he'd only come Online as a Guide recently, Phil still had a lot to learn.

"Are you alright?" Phil asked in a clear tone of voice as he tugged at the front of his shirt a few times to waft his scent into the air. Sometimes focusing on other senses helped a Sentinel escape a zone out. Then Phil realized the problem with his training. Clint was only a partial Sentinel and didn't have either enhanced hearing or scent to focus on. Phil's training had focused only on helping full Sentinels, glossing over how to help partials. Frustrated, Phil rubbed his face hard.

Thor slapped Clint's ankle with the back of his hand. "Are you falling asleep on me, Barton?"

Clint came back to himself with a harsh inhale, shoving the empty spoon into his mouth and looking down. "Mo'ning," he mumbled, ignoring Thor's question.

Pulling out the spoon, Clint lifted his bowl and began to rapidly shove the rest of the cereal into his mouth, tipping the last of the milk into his mouth with a slurp just as Phil walked into the kitchen. Hopping off the counter, Clint tossed the bowl and spoon into the sink with a clatter and wiped his wetly shining mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry, I've gotta go, Thor. I'm doing a favor for an old contact today. Coulson, Nat'll be up soon. Bye." Giving a wave, he vanished out the door on the opposite side of the room.

Phil felt deflated. He didn't know why Clint kept running away from him, but he didn't like it. It couldn't be that he felt awkward about Phil's flirting, because Clint never stuck around long enough for Phil to actually flirt. Clint also still called Phil by his last name after being invited to use his first several times. It made Phil feel obligated to keep calling him Barton in return, a formality that seemed forced. Even stranger, it seemed to make Clint just as uncomfortable as it did Phil, yet Clint continued to insist on it.

Being around each other used to be so easy. Then Phil had died and everything had changed. Even if nothing romantic ever came about, Phil simply missed their friendship.

Turning to Thor, Phil stuffed down his personal feelings and held out his hand politely. "Thor, it's good to see you again."

"Son of Coul!" Thor exclaimed happily. "It does my heart good to see you in the flesh alive and well!" Ignoring Phil's hand, Thor seized him in a hug, lifting Phil up onto his tiptoes and cracking his back.

Patting Thor's shoulder frantically, Phil wheezed, "Ease up!"

Thor's laughter boomed through the kitchen as he released a wobbly Phil to lean against the counter. "You are not as fragile as all that, my friend, not if you survived a spear through the heart." Thor's face darkened as they both remembered that it had been his brother Loki who'd wielded the spear.

"I had a lot of help with that," Phil said, turning on the electric kettle and pulling out a mug. He felt a sudden urge for herbal tea.

Straddling a chair with a can of peanuts on one hand, Thor poured half of the jar into his mouth and chewed enthusiastically. "Did you know that there is a man with a metal arm living in Rogers' suite and that he has bonded to our comrade in arms?"

After eschewing the myriad loose-leaf and international options for a bag of Lipton's herbal Mango Peach, Phil nodded. "Sergeant James Barnes is a childhood friend of Captain Rogers. He received a version of the super soldier serum and ended up a brainwashed assassin for decades, most recently with Hydra. He broke free of his conditioning with Roger's help, took the fight to his handlers, became a mercenary, came Online as a Guide, and then rejoined the Captain here, choosing to join the Avengers. The two bonded."

"Indeed?" Thor looked intrigued. "I look forward to arm wrestling him later, as this son of Barne's name implies that he has noble ancestors of Norse origin."

As Phil poured steaming water into an Iron Man mug that had been defaced with black and purple sharpies, Thor asked, "Did you know Rogers was truly a girl this whole time?" Not waiting or an answer or even seeming to pause for a breath, he continued, "Loki used to pull such tricks on me as a youth, though Rogers said it was not a full physical change like when my brother would become my sister for a time, but rather an illusion created by mode of dress and hairstyle, since apparently you Midgardians equate short hair with masculinity. As my flowing locks attest," Thor ran a hand down his long blond hair, "along with the metal-armed Barnes who has bonded with our Captain, the man makes the hair and not the other way around. But I digress. Stark has told me Rogers is also a full Sentinel capable of something similar to a berserker state! I am truly sad to have missed it." Lifting the can of peanuts, Thor poured the rest into his mouth, spilling several onto the floor with little pings as they hit and rolled across the floor. Little Stark bots came trolling out and cleaned up the mess before zipping back into their docking stations hidden in the walls.

Phil tried to decide just what part of Thor's monologue to address first. "I came back right after that incident myself. However, the feral Sentinel state happens rarely and usually only when children or mates are in danger. I suppose the right threat could provoke it again, but if so, the best thing you could do would be to stay back so Captain Rogers didn't attack you."

Thor nodded and tossed the empty peanut can into the trash. "Although I would enjoy such a challenge, I know berserkers often regret attacks on friends after the fact, much like Dr. Banner when he's the Hulk. I will be careful."

Jumping up from the chair, Thor went into the pantry and returned with a box of Tony's _Cracklin' Oat Bran_. Ripping open the top, he was about to shove his hand inside when he saw Phil watching. "Would you like some before I devour it all?" he asked politely.

"Actually, yes," Phil decided, pulling out a bowl. Thor filled it to the brim and then lifted the box to pour cereal directly into his mouth with a happy, crunching growl.

Swallowing the cereal, Thor pulled a long strand of golden hair from the corner of his mouth with an irritated wrinkle of his nose. "In Asgard, we do not have Sentinels and Guides like those of Midgard. I must admit to finding myself puzzled at times by their workings. Rogers said that she is bonded to Barnes, but the implication was that the bond wasn't just romantic, but also had something to do with her being a Sentinel. Thinking back, I'm not sure if I've ever even talked to one of your Guides before. How does it all work? I admit to being somewhat perplexed."

"Well, to start with, you're talking to a Guide now," Phil said with a faint smile.

"Truly?" Thor asked with astonishment.

Phil nodded. "I came Online as a Guide early last year, which is pretty late for a human. Most people whose gifts came Online nowadays do so in their teens and twenties. Guides with their empathy and Sentinels with their enhanced physical senses currently make up around ten percent of the human population."

Phil had thought he was going crazy and finally dying from the alien goo, but instead he'd been coming Online.

After being tortured early in his military career, his gifts had gone from being latent to dormant. He'd completely lost the ability to sense the faint flashes of emotion from other people's minds that had punctuated his adolescence. He'd shrugged off the loss, thinking it permanent, and moved on. Yet somehow Phil's alien cure had fixed those old psychic wounds too.

"Guides can sense emotions and access the astral plane with the proper training. It can be useful, but sensing emotions isn't optional. We have to constantly hold mental shields in the face of sometimes painful empathic pressure from nearby minds. Without shields, a Guide might pass out from the pain, slip into a coma, or even go insane."

Getting himself a drink, Thor asked, "But what of Sentinels? Our teammates number three, but they are not all the same."

"You're right," Phil said. "Steve is a full Sentinel while Clint and Natasha are partial Sentinels. They are a product of our primitive past and have a biological imperative to fight to protect the tribe. Most of them end up with careers in the military or law enforcement, though there are always exceptions. A full Sentinel like Steve has at least five enhanced senses: sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch. Partial Sentinels have a subset of those. Clint has enhanced sight and touch. Natasha has normal sight but enhanced sound, taste, smell, and touch. One of many reasons why they partner so well together is that their enhancements compliment each other. Sentinels are generally well-respected in our society."

Thor frowned. "But why then have I seen our Sentinel comrades disrespected for their natures?"

Sighing, Phil went to the sink and washed his dishes. "Mundanes, or people without such gifts, sometimes feel jealousy or resentment towards Sentinels and Guides. All of the Avengers are unique. People thought Captain America's Sentinel gifts were from the serum and not natural, so they called her a fake and treated Steve as less."

"And Barton and Romanov?" Thor prompted.

"Partial Sentinels don't have all five senses enhanced, so they can be unfairly looked down upon by other Gifted and mundanes alike. They also don't really need a Guide to function, unlike a full Sentinel, whose senses can go out of control without help, causing rashes, disorientation, or even a fugue state called a zone that can slip into catatonia and death. This creates resentment in some full Sentinels. Partial Sentinels rarely zone, compensating by using their unenhanced senses as baselines to maintain normal function. Of course, when they do zone it can be just as serious if not more so than a full Sentinel, since they aren't as carefully monitored and the training to help them is lacking," Phil finished sourly, determined to rectify that fault in himself at the earliest opportunity.

"So Sentinels need Guides to function?" Thor shoved a handful of cereal into his mouth.

Thinking about how to explain it, Phil dried his hands on a delicately embroidered pale blue hand towel that had replaced the _Voltron_ towel that had started out as a joke and then stuck around for months until it ripped in half when someone tried to use it as a garrote. "Sentinels and Guides were made for each other through millennia of evolution. A bonded pair is a powerful force of stability and safety. When bonded, the Guide helps balance out the Sentinel's senses and the Sentinel shields the Guide's mind from outside emotions. They find it easier to use their gifts with fewer problems and find fulfillment in sharing a mental and spiritual bond. They're also more likely to survive to reproduce and get old, as the toll on unbonded Gifted can make it difficult to conceive and cause health problems. Nature encourages this bonding by giving the Gifted a... painful space in their soul meant to be filled by their opposite number. Some people can ignore it, but all the Gifted feel it, even partial Sentinels."

"I'm sorry to hear of my comrades suffering from such a thing, but happy for the warrior bonding of Rogers and Barnes." Thor said nobly before returning to his cereal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Not 5 by 5**

by _Indygodusk_

Chapter 2

Stuffing his hand into the nearly empty cereal box, Thor nodded at the TV, changing the subject. "Did you know that one of the most poisonous animals on your planet is a small, colorful frog?"

"The poison dart frog. I did know that," Phil said. "Tribal warriors used to rub the tips of their darts on a frog's back to help paralyze their prey and enemies, hence the name." As the scene on the TV changed to under the water, Phil pointed. "Amazonian piranhas are also deadly. They swarm and can strip flesh from bones in seconds. Then there's the electric eel, which creates high-voltage shocks to both locate and stun its prey."

"Shh!" Thor urged, flapping his hand and sending pieces of cereal flying across the room as he leaned forward. "I must learn more about these eels who fight with lightning! Oh look! They even have little electrical fish in your Amazon River that look like daggers. I wonder how well they fight. I bet I could throw one with great accuracy." Face alight with childlike wonder, Thor moved to kneel right in front of the TV screen, almost stepping on one of the cleaning bots, which frantically swerved with a series of rude beeps.

A few minutes later Thor leaned back onto his hands with a sigh. "So the little electric fish do not use lightning as an attack, only for talking and wayfinding. Still, it is a wondrous thing."

"They are pretty neat," Phil agreed.

As the program ended, Thor surged to his feet. "I would visit this Amazon River and see these wondrous Midgardian fish who use electricity! As Thor, God of Thunder and Lightning, it is my duty and pleasure! Would you join me, Son of Coul?"

About to politely decline, Phil remembered that he wasn't an Agent in charge of SHIELD anymore. Although he had fallen into being a liaison for the Avengers, he still had a lot more free time than he used to. "You know what? That sounds fun. I don't think I've ever been to the rainforest without having to do work." And most of that had been miserable work to boot. "Though I need to pack appropriate supplies for visiting the Amazon if I don't want to get eaten alive."

Breezing into the room, Stark made a beeline for the fridge and stuck his head inside. "No vacations today. We have that training thingy this morning…. Where's my yogurt?"

"Sir, you threw it out yesterday on discovering that it had grown a moldy goatee to rival your own," Jarvis answered him dryly.

Slamming the fridge door, Stark turned to the pantry. "What about my _Cracklin' Oat Bran_?" he called a second later.

Looking down at the empty box in his hands, Thor dropped it to the floor and slid it under the couch with the side of his foot just as Stark came stomping out with a bagel hanging out of his mouth. Phil met Stark's suspicious look with blandness. Thor scratched the back of his head and looked engrossed in the _Ancient Aliens_ episode just starting about Shamans in South America.

Growling, Tony plopped down on the couch and swallowed the bite in his mouth. "I hate that host guy's hair. Also, _is it possible_ that you people could leave my personal food alone?"

Behind his back, the cleaning bot tugged out the box from under the couch and dragged it away. Tony didn't seem to notice the faint scraping sound of cardboard on tile. Phil had to fight the urge to laugh.

"Excuse me, Sir," Jarvis interrupted, "but I'm sorry to remind you that you declared all food in the public areas fair game after ripping off Captain Rogers labels and sharing his snacks with the unsuspecting Dr. Banner and Guide Coulson last week."

"Wait, those were Steve's?" Phil blurted.

Scowling, Tony took another bite of his bagel. "Traitorous AI."

"You programmed me this way, Sir. You have only yourself to blame," Jarvis replied comfortably.

Overhead, the PA system chimed the announcement tone, "Rogers here. We're meeting up for Avengers training in the sparring room in ten minutes. I'm feeling feisty this morning now that Thor's back. Phil, I expect to see you there too. Tony, no Iron Man suit to start. I want to evaluate your skills in case of suit failure. I've rearranged the obstacles, so come with your game faces on. Rogers out."

Tony wrinkled his nose sourly. "I want to evaluate your skills," he repeated in a mocking tone of voice. "Bah! Bonding has given Rogers way too much energy. Barnes is obviously doing something wrong in that relationship. Cap's supposed to be too worn out and distracted to pull the creative training scenarios."

Clapping a hand on Stark's shoulder that made him almost choke on his last bite of bagel, Thor said, "Do not fear for your health outside your metal suit, friend Stark. I will go easy on you and remind the others to do the same."

Phil had to press his lips flat to keep from smiling as Stark's hackles rose in challenge.

Eyes going narrow, Tony stood up and wiped his hands clean of crumbs. "No need, Thor. It's been a while since you trained with us. You'd do better to worry for yourself. I'm sure you don't want to be humiliated on the obstacle course."

Looking down at his outfit, Phil decided exercise was a good plan B for the morning, but he didn't want to ruin his best black shirt. He swung by his room to change into his most attractive (which wasn't saying much) workout gear to make a good impression on Natasha, who'd at least given him permission to informally call her Nat. That little victory still filled him with warmth.

Unfortunately by the time he got to training, Nat was too busy showing Tony how to escape a grapple to spare him any special attention.

After a few hours of training with superheroes, Phil felt like a wet spaghetti noodle continually thrown against the wall to see if he'd stick and prove himself cooked. There was a reason he'd been a top handler and not a top field agent in SHIELD. Phil could hold his own in a fight if he had to, but mental acrobatics were much more his forte.

Right after a shower and lunch, an official call came for Captain Rogers on the public line. "Avengers assemble!" Steve called urgently, hanging up the phone.

Thor whooped in excitement and gave both Stark and Bruce a high five. "A fight on my first day back with the team. What a glorious homecoming!"

Within minutes, everyone had grabbed their weapons and assembled on the roof.

"What's the situation?" Phil asked as he prepared to pilot the quinjet in Hawkeye's absence. He and Nat usually traded off when Clint wasn't around. "Not more homicidal unicorns in Philadelphia, I trust?"

As soon as everyone boarded, Steve squared her shoulders and folded her hands behind her back. "No, it's Hawkeye. He's been captured."

Immediately the mood turned tense. Phil's gut clenched. Expression going arctic, Black Widow went to her weapons locker and began strapping on extra guns and knives.

Lifting off the roof, Phil exerted iron control on his imagination and listened to Steve's explanation. "The favor Hawkeye was doing for a buddy in the ATF ended up getting him and another agent captured when they stumbled into the middle of an FBI sting. I only got called as a courtesy, but I told them we'd get Hawkeye out ourselves. Agent Higginson from the FBI is leading things on their end and I don't trust him not to screw things up."

Phil frowned. He'd just have to trust in Clint to keep himself alive long enough. "Higginson's the FBI agent who doesn't like Sentinels, correct?"

"He always douses himself with rank cologne when he knows we're coming," Black Widow said curtly.

"Oh, cologne guy? I hate that guy," Barnes said breezily, seemingly not as invested as the rest of the team. Watching in the rearview mirror, Phil nevertheless saw him pull on his goggles, latch his mask, and slot guns and knives into his holsters. The metal plates on Barnes' arm switched configuration with a menacing growl that made hair rise on the back of Phil's neck. Phil was glad that the Winter Soldier was on their side.

Turning to Captain America, Barnes looked her up and down with a disapproving grunt. "Really Doll? You planning to go into a fight to rescue your friend with only those measly peashooters?"

Barnes was engaged in a campaign to increase the number of guns carried by Captain America during a fight. Steve routinely ignored her Guide's efforts, but made an exception today at the appeal to Clint's safety. Rolling her eyes, she strapped on a larger gun. "They shoot a lot more than peas, Bucky. I can use you for target practice later if you want me to prove it."

"No foreplay in the quinjet!" Tony objected loudly before turning to address the rest of the team, "And what is it about Barton? I feel like he gets captured more than the rest of us combined."

"He also isn't rich or enhanced beyond his eyesight, is a soft touch when it comes to sob stories, and works more side jobs than the rest of you," Nat said as she started sharpening the knives in her arsenal with deadly focus.

Gulping, Tony eyed her with caution and kept his next snide comment to himself.

Pushing the jet to its limits, Phil got them to the location as quickly as possible.

Captain America stood up and slung her shield over her back. "Game faces on, Avengers, and stay focused."

"I'll take point with Agent Higginson of the FBI, if you have no objections, Captain Rogers?" Phil asked formally, not wanting to step on any toes.

Steve waved him forward as everyone disembarked. "Be my guest. He also makes my Sentinel senses riot, but it's less obvious because of my serum, so I usually distract him from bothering the others."

"Hulk smash stinky man?" asked the big green guy, who'd transformed as soon as he'd exited the quinjet.

"No, Hulk, Cap won't let us. Higginson has a wife and elderly father to support, remember?" Iron Man huffed with annoyance. "Nevermind that I could write her an alimony check and pay for the old man to live in a swanky retirement home."

"Enough, guys," Steve said with exasperation. "Let's just focus on rescuing Hawkeye."

They'd landed in the backlot of a warehouse on the outskirts of a coastal town that had seen better days. The air smelled of brine and diesel. Faded signs, peeling paint, and unpatched holes told the story of a warehouse district that had been in decline for years, leaving abandoned lots and minimizing curious neighbors, making it a location ripe for criminal activity. Despite being in the middle of the day, there were no other pedestrians besides the Avengers and the agents at the mobile HQ of vans and trucks up ahead.

Moving away from the quinjet with purpose, Phil pulled out his mirrored sunglasses and slipped them on. "Agent Higginson," he greeted the FBI agent when close enough. "I'm Agent Coulson of—of the Avengers," he stumbled, still almost saying the S.H.I.E.L.D. acronym despite having retired over a year ago. It was hard to break the habits of a lifetime. "What's the situation with Agent Barton?" The rest of the Avengers ranged themselves behind him, though he took note that the three Sentinels stood upwind.

The sour-faced FBI agent, who did indeed reek of cheap cologne, crossed his arms. "It's _Special_ Agent Higginson. We still don't have any contact with your man or the ATF's wayward agent." He turned and pointed past a tall orange crane in the distance. "About half a mile on, Agent Barton was showing one of the ATF's Agents, a newly hired Guide, the best perches to survey certain warehouses. They ended up doing a little exploring into a supposedly abandoned warehouse that wasn't actually empty, destroying an FBI operation months in the planning."

"This SNAFU isn't solely the fault of the ATF!" interrupted a rapidly approaching man. He wore a well-cut suit, had expensively cut and styled hair, and wore a high-end, Sentinel-friendly fragrance. Something about him nudged at Phil, but the impression stayed just out of reach. The man stopped in front of them and scowled at Higginson. "We informed your office of the survey and were not informed about any ongoing operation. That fault lies with the FBI."

Turning abruptly to Phil, he held out his hand, "Special Agent Joe Bodine, ATF."

"Phil Coulson, Avengers," Phil greeted, shaking hands. As soon as their skin touched, Phil figured out what he'd been missing. The man was an unbonded Sentinel.

Features lightening with interest, Agent Bodine squeezed Phil's hand and met his eyes. "Guide Coulson, what a pleasure, though I do regret the circumstances. I didn't know the Avengers had such a handsome Guide on staff."

Clearing her throat pointedly, Natasha stepped forward to stand by Phil's side and glared at the agent. "Just what happened with the ATF to get Agent Barton captured?"

"Yeah, Bodine. Why don't you tell them?" Higginson sneered.

Slashing an unfriendly glance at the FBI agent, Bodine turned to address Phil and Natasha. "Barton owed us a favor and had been undercover in the area a few years back. He knew how to navigate the area, which has a lot of renovations that never made it onto any maps. It was supposed to be an easy mission, go in and show our agent, a young but promising Guide who could evaluate the emotional tone of the area before we sent in more ATF agents for a raid, where the best surveillance spots are. We didn't know the FBI was also here investigating a group smuggling drugs using the international pet trade as a front. Being only a partial Sentinel, Barton probably missed what was happening and walked them right into the middle of the raid. He and Agent Larkins were taken hostage."

Higginson snorted. "Barton might've gotten out just fine if your little Guide hadn't rushed in and then gotten flustered and tripped, knocking Barton's weapon out of his hand. They only captured Barton at all because they had so many men, knew the area, and threatened to shoot the ATF Guide in the head if Barton didn't turn himself in. Proper procedure, not supernatural powers, would've saved this mess."

"Our agent was understandably surprised and threatened by the screaming FBI agents waving guns at him," Bodine snapped.

Coulson cleared his throat loudly. "I don't care who's to blame. Figure that out later. Right now, I want to know which warehouse has my man and what the defenses are like."

"This way," Higginson gestured. "The agents on the ground tried a rescue, but they repelled our attack. We weren't prepared for assaulting a fortified building, so we fell back and called for reinforcements. That's when you showed up." The two men explained the type of resistance they'd encountered. It wasn't much compared to the superpowered enemies the Avengers usually faced, but it still had been too much for them to rescue Clint and the ATF agent safely.

"Hulk smash now?" Hulk asked in a booming voice. The nearby agents cowered away fearfully at the sound. Even Higginson jumped, though he tried to hide it by crossing his arms and raising his chin belligerently.

Looking at the warehouse, Phil deferred to Captain Rogers. "I think we're going to be overkill, but whatever's necessary to get Barton back. You have a go."

"Hey, don't destroy all my evidence stomping around in there," Higginson ordered.

Captain America sent him a steely-eyed glare. "We'll do what we must to get our friend back."

"My man's in there too," Agent Bodine reminded them.

Higginson sneered. "Yeah, don't forget the ATF's rookie Guide who blew my operation. He's probably huddled in a corner crying somewhere. Maybe Black Widow can give him a hug when she finds him—oh wait, she's only a partial Sentinel. That's not enough to calm his little Guide feelings. Never mind."

As Captain America turned away sharply and gave orders to the team, Coulson looked Agent Higginson up and down with disdain. Natasha didn't even spare the FBI agent a glance, too used to the casual disdain towards partial Sentinels.

"That's it," Bodine snapped. "I'm reporting you. Don't think I won't."

Higginson rolled his eyes.

Pulling off his sunglasses, Phil stepped forward and looked Higginson squarely in the eye. "Is there a reason you're still hanging around like a fly on a corpse, Agent Higginson? This is clearly an ATF and Avengers matter now. Your FBI op has failed. You'd be better served to go back to headquarters and explain your failings to your superiors."

Higginson sputtered.

Pursing his lips, Phil continued. "Also, I'd be surprised if you don't have several formal complaints in your file already. Too many more at your age and you're facing a forced retirement. Both your stench and attitude towards the Gifted and to fellow human beings in danger is offensive and unprofessional. I can rattle off at least seven Federal Bureau of Investigation policies you're in violation of right now, and I'm not even trying very hard. Should I list the names of the top ten people in your agency who've given me their personal phone numbers? Or perhaps the number of world-class hackers I'm close friends with who'd ruin your life at the snap of my fingers? Unlike the Avengers who are too busy saving lives, I have the time and talents to deal with small problems like you."

Although Coulson hadn't raised his voice once, he also hadn't let Higginson look away from his piercing gaze. The FBI agent had gone from bright red choler to pasty white alarm by the end of Phil's speech. "Do we understand each other, Agent Higginson?"

The FBI agent's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

Coulson looked away dismissively to check on the Avenger's assault. They'd easily overcome the resistance and forced their way inside the warehouse doors.

He looked back to see Higginson visibly sagging. The man staggered away a step. "I'm…" Higginson trailed off.

"You're what?" Coulson asked evenly, arching one brow as he flicked his sunglasses open and put them back on his face.

"...I'm out of here," Higginson said in a low, rough voice. Dropping his eyes, he spun around and scurried off with his tail tucked firmly between his legs.

"Wow, that was hot," Agent Bodine said, stepping up next to Phil so their arms touched. "After this is over, I'm taking you out for a drink or even dinner. I love Guides like you."

Giving the man a cool look, Phil shifted so they weren't touching. "I'm not available." The feeling of Bodine's interest made Phil uncomfortable, almost itchy with the need to move farther away. He was a handsome man and, from what Phil could feel, a strong Sentinel, but Phil just wasn't interested, especially not with someone so pushy. His heart was already engaged elsewhere.

Bodine sent him a knowing look. "But you're not bonded either, Phil. I can feel that. You must be hurting. I'm a Sentinel. You're a Guide. We need each other to feel complete and to control our gifts. I'm being clear because you press all of my buttons. The partials on your team aren't going to give you what you need. Only a full Sentinel can do that, a Sentinel like me. Give me chance, a private dinner to show you how good we could be together."

Swiveling on his heel, Phil walked away.

"Playing hard to get? That's okay. I like a challenge," Bodine called after him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Warning:_ non-graphic torture and violence

* * *

 **Not 5 by 5**

* * *

Chapter 3 - Indygodusk

* * *

"That's a lot of fish tanks," Iron Man whistled as they came into the warehouse. The building had a large open area in the front full of row upon row of tanks full of exotically-colored fish. Drug paraphernalia sat against the far wall. Farther back the huge space had been partitioned off into a labyrinth of small rooms. Captain America divided the team up to make the search for Clint go faster. Hulk and the federal agents kept the bad guys out front too busy to come back in and bother them.

Coulson's voice came over the com, "Black Widow, Captain America, do your senses pick up any signs of Hawkeye?"

"Just near the front doors. Back here it's too faded," Cap reported apologetically.

"Mostly I just smell drugs and fish. No salt though, so the fish are all freshwater," Black Widow said, straining her senses to catch even a hint of Clint over everything else.

Captain America and Winter Soldier joined her at the next bend in the hallway, having cleared their section of the partitioned warehouse. "I don't think it really matters to the mission if they're salt- or freshwater fish," Captain America said as she started clearing a new set of rooms. "They're just a front for drug smuggling."

"They are fish and fish are food!" Thor declared. "Perhaps if Iron Man used his thrusters to get the water boiling, we could eat them on the way out in celebration of rescuing our comrade?"

"Unseasoned?" Tony asked with disdain. "Also, I don't cook and I only take my sushi from attractive asian people or really ugly old men."

"Stay focused on your mission. Also, leave the fish alone or get slapped with a bill," came Coulson's voice over the com. "These FBI certainly seem the type."

The familiar cadence of Phil's voice through the com nestled in Nat's ear was an intimacy that still sent a warm tingle down her spine after being so long without it. Phil Coulson was one of the few people in the world she would compromise herself for. That he would never ask her to just made him all the more precious and unique.

Natasha didn't get attached to much, but somehow Phil Coulson had snuck past her barriers and set up shop in her affections. She wouldn't call it love because she wasn't capable of love. Her failed relationship with Clint proved that and served as a reminder to leave Phil alone no matter how he shook her down to her soul and made her wonder... _what if?_

Besides which, Phil was quite clearly devoted to Clint and vice versa if they could just stop being stupid and start talking. They'd be so good for each other. After they rescued Clint (she refused to believe in any other outcome), she was going to make him stop running away everytime Phil entered a room and talk to the man. They deserved that happiness, the two people she cared for most in the world. Basking in the reflected warmth would have to be enough for the Black Widow.

"Did anyone else notice the strange bundles of brightly colored feathers and sticks by all the exterior doors and windows?" the Winter Soldier asked abruptly.

Captain America jogged over to the wall to get a closer look. "Could be superstition or could be some kind of magic."

"Or maybe the boss's girlfriend is just into tribal-themed interior decorating?" Tony snarked.

"I found someone!" cried Thor, distracting everyone from the question of feathers. He ran into a small side room. It didn't smell right, but Natasha followed, still hoping Clint would be inside.

Coming up to the door, she saw a metal box made of thick bars with only narrow gaps between the slats. Limp fingers hung through an opening in the bars, but it was too shadowed in the room to see more of the figure through the slats without enhanced vision. Thor grunted and pulled the bars away as if they were made of string cheese. A man's unconscious body tumbled out as soon as the hole in the cage got wide enough.

"Is it Barton?" Coulson asked with barely restrained emotion.

The dark hair and chubby build, not to mention the scent of the man's skin and off-beat sound of his heart, all confirmed that this was not Clint, just as she'd suspected. "It's the ATF agent." Nat leaned forward, doing a quick check for injuries and finding a swollen injection site on his neck. "He's unconscious, likely drugged, but otherwise only has a few cuts and bruises." Frowning, she pulled back her fingers. "I think he's having empathic trouble as a Guide and may be slipping into catatonia under the barrage of our emotions, but I'm not skilled at making mental shields for others. Most partials aren't."

The Winter Soldier brushed past her and knelt by the man's side, taking off the black glove on his right hand and laying it across the agent's face, using his empathy to connect with the man's mind. It still boggled her that James Barnes, the Winter Soldier, her long ago emotionless trainer and mission partner Sasha, had turned out to be an empathic Guide. The mere thought of switching gifts with him made her shudder in horror. She had enough trouble dealing with her own emotions, much less being forced to feel and respond to other people's feelings too, especially the feelings of people you were hurting or killing.

"She's right. The Guide's going into shock and his shields are collapsing. I can prop up his shields for now and keep him stable, get him out to his people and an ambulance." Barnes sent a quick look at Cap, who nodded in agreement. Pulling the ATF agent over his shoulder, the Winter Soldier stood up to leave.

"Iron Man, you go with him, clear the way and check on how Hulk's doing up front," ordered Captain America.

Waving his hand in acknowledgement, Iron Man flew into the main area of the warehouse above the rows of fish tanks, followed by Barnes carrying the unconscious ATF agent.

Seconds later, both Nat and Steve jerked to the left. In perfect unity they sprinted directly towards a blank expanse of wall.

"Whats going on?" Thor demanded, following them.

"Clint's screaming," Nat bit out as Steve pulled ahead.

Raising her shield and dropping her shoulder, Captain America charged forward full force and busted through the aluminum wall with a shriek of tortured metal that sent a quake through the entire structure, raining down dust and bug carcasses like hail. Avoiding the sharp edges peeling away from the hole like razored flower petals, Natasha leapt through with a grand jete and followed Steve at a sprint out into the hot afternoon sun.

A small, squat building stood about two hundred yards away in the shadow of a larger warehouse, guarded by one man with a semi-automatic. Natasha drew her gun and fired, dropping him to the ground. A second guard popped up around the far corner at the sound. Before she could move her aim the scant distance needed, Thor threw his hammer Mjolnir at the guard's chest. The man went flying into the side of the building with a heavy thud, head smacking into the wall on impact, and dropped to the ground limply. The hammer returned to Thor's hand with a smack.

Clint screamed again, the sound raking up and down her eardrums like caustic thorns, each shriek scraping away at the wall keeping her most monstrous impulses at bay.

"I hear him now," Thor cried vengefully.

Cap wrenching the door of the building open only made Clint's shrieks louder. The edges of Nat's vision hazed red. Black Widow was going to slaughter everyone who'd made him scream like that.

Inside the door they found an empty front desk and a narrow hall surrounded by small offices. Natasha could smell a dead body nearby: blood, voided bowels, and decaying cells. The tortured screams came from the last room on the right, so at least she knew Clint was still alive. He was so loud in his pain that his torturers must have missed the sounds of the assault.

That or they were having too much fun to investigate.

Gun in one hand and the electrodes of her widow's bites sparking in the other, Natasha followed hard on Captain America's heels.

Cap didn't bother with the doorknob, bursting through and slamming the splintered door into the wall. Nat leapt inside, taking in the entire scene at a glance. On one side of the room sat a dead body, a pale-skinned man tied to a chair with a bullet wound in his chest and the jagged letter carved into his forehead with a knife.

On the other side of the room was Clint.

Four men stood around his bound body, jeering and shouting questions. They'd strapped Clint down in what looked like a high-tech salon hair dryer chair. The chair had a globe-like helmet on top which covered Clint's head down to the pale scar on his neck where someone had once tried and failed to slit his throat. She used to trace that scar with her tongue and lips. Nat's fingers tightened on her gun grip. Unfortunately, she knew better that to think Clint was getting a perm and blow dry over there.

Clint was being tortured.

The Sentinel Interrogation Chair (SIC) was a German device from WWII designed specifically to inflict pain using a Sentinel's enhanced senses against them.

The helmet of the SIC could produce noxious or sickeningly sweet smells, spray foul tasting and skin-irritating chemicals, produce ear-splitting sounds, and emit piercing strobe lights. The arm and leg restraints allowed for traditional pain delivery methods as well as a taunt skin canvas for using caustic chemicals to target a Sentinel's sense of touch. A talented torturer could go through the settings until finding the Sentinel's most vulnerable sense and then focus in on that for interrogation. The sensors in the chair made it easier to gauge when to switch to a new torment to reduce the chances of the Sentinel escaping into a zone out.

The Red Room had made sure that all their Black Widows were intimately familiar with both the giving and receiving of pain in a SIC during training. None of the girls had been full Sentinels, the genetic imperative to protect proved too strong in full Sentinels for the kind of dark and amoral work Black Widows had been used for, but even a partial Sentinel could be brought to agony and kept there. In the hands of a master torturer, there was no escape. Just wave upon wave of pain from every direction as your very body rebelled against you. She hadn't seen another SIC in over a decade and even that had been a surprise. They'd always been expensive to maintain and very rare.

Unpleasant sounds and smells drifted from the helmet of the chair where Clint shrieked in pain. They hadn't started cutting or burning his skin yet, but one of the men had a tray of knives and tubes of caustics set out on a table nearby.

The four men watching Clint scream and writhe in the chair spun around at their entrance with expressions of irritation that quickly morphed into shock and fear.

The men were caught completely by surprise by the Avengers. None of the men even had a chance to reach for their weapons. The combined might of Captain America, Black Widow, and Thor smashed them like kindling. They went down much too easily.

Black Widow stood over the man she'd electrocuted and hoped he'd try to stand up and keep fighting so she could hit him again. Instead, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as it thunked onto the floor. His body jerked. The paper in his hand with the German codes for controlling the chair's settings fell loose from his fingers. A clot of foam escaped his thick lips and slid down his cheek. He stopped breathing as his heart stuttered and died.

Dissatisfied, she spun towards Clint to shut off the chair's program and end his agony.

Before she could even touch the controls, his screams abruptly stopped. A second later he said, "Oh, hey, is that the cavalry?" Clint's voice coming out of the helmet sounded muffled and hoarse, but otherwise almost normal.

Nat's fingers started flicking across the chair's controls to enter the codes to turn everything off. The sound of an ear-splitting _bleet_ burst out of the helmet, making both Nat and Steve flinch away in agony. Hands over ears, Steve jumped forward and ripped out the power cord to stop the noise. The chair whined and then groaned as the systems ground to a halt.

Teeth grinding, Nat barely suppressed a vicious curse, sending Steve a nasty glare.

"Is that you, Nat?" Clint asked into the silence.

"Yes." Ignoring the burning of her sinuses from the vapors still escaping the chair, Natasha leaned forward and cupped her hand over the scar bisecting Clint's bare throat. He swallowed and pressed into the touch. His skin felt damp with cold sweat. A tremor passed through his body before being ruthlessly suppressed. The sound and feel of his blood pumping and the air whistling through his lungs made the ice inside her soul start to thaw.

"Oh, good," Clint said faintly.

Pulling away her fingers to get to work, she felt his body start to panic again. Damning herself for a sentimental idiot, she dropped a kiss on the side of his neck. In response, Clint's galloping heartbeat slowed and his breathing steadied.

"Cap panicked and pulled the plug mid-program, so we're going to have to use brute force to get you out of the chair and be careful not to trigger the release of more chemicals. It will take a few minutes, but we'll go as fast as we can," Nat explained, fingers moving nimbly over the edges of the helmet.

"I was trying to help," Steve defended.

"Then use your brain next time instead of your fists," Nat shot back, not looking Cap's way.

Pressing her lips together to hold back a retort, Cap took a deep breath and then updated the rest of the team over the com that they'd found Hawkeye. Natasha focused on undoing each of the dozens of little tubes, latches, and seals keeping the helmet locked around Clint's head. Kneeling down on the other side of the chair, Steve set to work releasing Clint's arms and legs while Thor trussed up the two criminals who'd survived the assault.

It took longer than she liked to try and free Clint. As soon as Cap freed one hand, Clint tucked his fingers into the belt at Nat's waist and gripped tightly. She squeezed his wrist and continued working. Finally she unscrewed the last tube she could find and decided to just risk it. She needed to get Clint out of there. "Here we go," she warned him.

Curling her fingers around the edges, Nat pulled at the helmet. She grunted with the effort. Finally it gave with a hydraulic wheeze of releasing pressure and a high-pitched squeal of bending metal.

Eyes dilated and red-veined, hair dripping with sweat, Clint blinked rapidly and squinted into the light. In a stroke of luck she realized that they'd had the helmet programmed for complete darkness. His fingers slid out of her belt to hold onto the curve of her hip as he sat up.

Clint turned and settled his bright blue eyes on Natasha, running them over her face and body like a child stroking the fur of a stuffie. His gaze went in and out of focus, but it still felt comforting for her too, as if Clint had stroked his calloused fingers firmly along her skin, assuring them both that she was really there with him. No one else had ever looked at Natasha like Clint did. He saw things in her no one else ever had, saw her truths and her lies and accepted them with open heart and hands. He saw past the beauty of her sculpted body and face, through her masks and deadly training, into her skin cells and the very heart of her intentions. He saw it all and yet somehow only focused on the very best. He made her want to be her very best self.

Nat valued Clint Barton more than she valued herself. She wouldn't have tried so hard for him if she hadn't cared so much, not just once, but over and over throughout the years. They'd tried so many times to make a relationship work, but one of them always screwed it up. Happily ever afters weren't made for people like them. They were two partial Sentinels with traumatic childhoods, bad habits, wrongs to atone for, low self-esteem, and inconvenient instinctual drives. The deck was stacked against them on all counts.

Nevertheless, they had gotten close to real happiness together.

At the end of the day, maybe that would have to be enough.

"Thanks for the assist," Clint said, voice gravelly from screaming. Letting go of her hip with visible reluctance, he looked away and stretched, his joints popping and cracking. Thor handed Clint a stack of damp paper towels, which he used to wipe off his face and neck.

Dropping the wad of paper, Clint hopped off the chair and stood up. Nat snapped out her arms to steady him, but Clint barely needed it beyond an initial wobble. Shockingly, he didn't seem too badly hurt besides the lingering trouble focusing his eyes. He had some bruising to the face and body along with some shallow cuts, but not much else.

Natasha wasn't the only one to notice.

"You seem surprisingly spry considering the screaming we heard earlier, friend Hawkeye," Thor said, dropping the hand he'd also reached out in preparation to catch Clint in case he fell.

Captain America tilted her head and carefully looked Clint up and down. "He's right. You sounded like they were flaying you alive in here. You sure you should be up already?"

As Clint faced Steve, his eyes still didn't quite focus in the right place. Sentinels sometimes had trouble with enhanced senses oscillating between too broad and too narrow of a focus. Partials usually relied on their normal senses to guide them to the right levels, but in the chair, all his senses had been under attack.

"Cap's right," Nat said with concern, not moving out of Clint's personal space in case he abruptly dropped.

"What is the status on Barton?" demanded Coulson over the com, unable to keep silent for a moment longer.

Steve raised one eyebrow and looked at Clint. "Guide Coulson wants to know your status." She passed Clint a com. "I'm sure he'd like to hear from you personally."

A faint pink flush tinted the tips of Clint's ears as his unfocused blue eyes drifted around the room. "I'm fine." Putting the com in his ear, Clint repeated, "Coulson, I'm fine. These guys learned torture by watching romcoms. I didn't even get any interesting new scars."

"Do you actually have any interesting scars?" Phil asked archly, his voice losing the thread of tension once he heard Clint speak. The pink blush spread to Clint's cheekbones as Phil continued, "Besides the ones I already know about. Whatever the case, I'm ready to take you home as soon as you come out, Barton."

Clint swallowed hard. "Yeah." Pressing the com deeper into his ear, he lowered his head, closed his eyes, and let out a long, silent sigh. Thor and Cap stepped away to give him some privacy, but Nat had no compunction about staying close.

Voice going sardonic, Phil added, "However, if you're lying about your health, I'm going to personally frog march you over to the ambulance and turn you over to the paramedic with the coldest hands and longest needles."

"Cruel, Coulson, very cruel. I don't know how you've fooled Rogers into thinking you're so nice," Clint said, opening his eyes and lifting his head, shoulders straightening. "I'll see you soon." The words sounded less flippant than he'd probably intended, more like a solemn vow. His eyes finally focused, turning to lock onto Nat's hands. He'd always liked her hands.

"You sure you're good to walk yourself out? I can send in a stretcher," Phil said, a note of teasing in his voice.

Clint's eyes moved across the room, drifting over the body of the dead FBI informant with a flash of pity before stopping on one of the bound men trussed up by Thor.

"No need. I'm fine. _Really_ ," Clint stressed. Biting his lip, he took a quick breath and added, "See you soon. Barton out."

Nat sent him a look of wordless concern, but Clint waved her off. If he needed to play things this way, she'd back him for now. However, if she thought he was hurting himself, she'd knock him down and drag him to the doctor herself.

Walking over to the bound criminals as if he just couldn't help himself, Clint looked down, expression going flat. The man at his feet cowered away. Something ugly flashed through Clint's eyes, contradicting his easy words about his treatment.

Without a word, Clint reared back and kick the bound man in the face, breaking his nose in a messy crunch of blood. Crying out and curling into a ball, the man tried to hide against the bottom of the chair he'd just used to torture Clint. Turning away sharply, Clint fisted his hands, blew out his breath, and walked out of the room.

"So if they didn't hurt you that much, why were you screaming like that?" Steve asked intently.

Clint led the way out of the building without looking back. He lifted his face to the sunshine with a quiet sigh. The rest of them followed. Thor dragged the two trussed up criminals by their scruffs, ignoring the still dripping blood and saliva from the one with the broken nose.

Natasha frowned and sent Clint a narrow-eyed look. "Yes, Clint. Do explain."

Clint answered breezily,"You know how people fake orgasms? Same thing with torture. If the bad guy figures out I'm a Sentinel, they assume I'm a full and not a partial. Since my hearing is my weakest sense, I make sure to fake that the hearing attacks hurt the most. People think hearing is more acute in the dark, so they focus on that and lay off of my real weak spot: my vision. Smart, am I right?"

Not waiting for an answer, Clint glanced over at Steve and asked with forced casualness, "You ever been forced to look at strobe lights?"

Eyes going flat, Steve nodded. "Yeah. Doctors liked to test the Sentinel Super Soldier made by science to try and force a zone out."

"Doctors are dicks," Clint said succinctly. "I really hate strobe lights." Rolling his shoulders, he stepped aside for the team of agents who'd come trotting over to take away Thor's prisoners and retrieve the bodies.


	4. Chapter 4

**Not 5 by 5**

* * *

Chapter 4 - Indygodusk

* * *

Looking in every direction but the one where his torturers were disappearing, Clint asked, "Did you guys find the baby Guide from ATF I was showing around? I tried to keep them distracted so they'd leave him alone, but we got separated. I was afraid that if they tortured him like they planned to torture me, he might lose control of his shields and go dormant, losing his gifts permanently. I hear that can happen to Guides sometimes."

"We got him out," Steve reassured him. "Physically he seemed fine, just drugged. Bucky's not too worried about his shields anymore either, so I think he's going to be okay."

Clint pursed his lips, "But would your metal-armed boyfriend really be that worried about a stranger?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Steve said with a strange stutter in her voice.

Ignoring Cap, Nat addressed Clint, "They are both Online Guides." She was trying to calm down now that Clint was safe and mostly fine. Banter was a good distraction. "Isn't there supposed to be some sort of built-in Guide brotherhood because of the empathy thing? A forced friendship? Sentinels can be territorial jerks and no one looks at you twice, but Guides are supposed to be diplomatic peacemakers."

 _Supposed to be_ left a lot of wiggle room.

Beneath her helmet, Steve gave a fond little smile. "I don't think Bucky lets his Guide gifts force him to do anything. From what I've seen, he uses his empathy more to tell who's a liar or a jerk so he doesn't have to bother with his manners. That and to charm people he can't intimidate, which is few and far between."

"See? Probably not worried means nothing," Clint said, nudging Nat with his elbow. She sent him a scowl, but it was weak and they both knew it. On a normal day, she'd meet a nudge with an armbar or a trip.

"No, no," Steve added earnestly. "Bucky's a good man."

"Whatever you say," Clint said teasingly, turning up his nose. Surreptitiously he rubbed the small of his back with one hand. Hopefully the goons hadn't bruised up his kidneys too much or he'd be peeing blood for a few days.

They used a normal back door instead of the hole in the wall to enter the main warehouse on their way to the exit. Now that the danger was neutralized and the captured men rescued, the authorities had quickly moved in for cleanup. A few of them sent Clint curious or concerned looks, but no one tried to stop them and talk. Hopefully Coulson could work his magic and get him out of testifying at any trial.

Tanks of exotic freshwater fish filled row upon row of plastic shelving in the main room of the warehouse. Air stones bubbled into the water and heaters blinked on and off, sending up a low-level hum throughout the room that made the bones behind Nat's ears itch. In some of the tanks the fish swam freely, fins of red, yellow, and green flashing iridescent beneath thin beams of sunlight sneaking in through the dirty skylights overhead. Greenish black algae grew along the walls of the tanks.

One tank held a narrow-bodied fish species so translucent that you could see the internal organs pulsing through the skin. Another held long black and brown fish sporting pale yellow stripes running both around the tips of their long narrow tails and down their backs, with long, undulating ribbon fins along the underside of their bodies. Many of the fish hid in plastic plants and cut off pvc pipes, only their noses and tails peeking out.

On a rack near the front of the warehouse, knotted plastic bags filled with both water and fish floated in tanks of warm water, ready to be grabbed and tossed on top of the waiting coolers lined with waterproof bags of drugs before shipping. Some bags held a single fish and others whole schools. Floating the bags of fish in water served to keep the water temperature stable and the fish healthy for transport.

"Oh, yeah," Clint snapped his fingers. Moving forward at something Nat might charitably call a trot if he was an arthritic dog and not a man, Clint peered into the tanks of floating bags until he found what he wanted, scooping up a dripping bag holding a single fish and returning to the group.

The fish he'd grabbed was as black as midnight and shaped like a throwing dagger, with an undulating ribbon fin along the base of its body. The long taper of its tail was interrupted by two white rings near the tip, several inches after the ribbon fin had terminated. A thin stripe of ivory also ran up its blunt nose, terminating on the top of its head in the middle of a bright orangish-red blotch that looked surprisingly similar to Black Widow's hourglass symbol. Grinning boyishly, Clint tossed the floppy bag to Natasha.

"What's this?" she asked, easily catching the ungainly object and holding the bagged fish up to eye level with confusion and slight disdain. The dripping bag didn't smell very good.

"A gift! It's a Black Ghost Knifefish. It reminded me of you." Looking up at her through his pale lashes with a hopeful smile, the puffiness of his face somehow not detracting from his cuteness, Clint added, "Also, it's an apology. Sorry for getting captured and worrying you, but thanks for the rescue."

The Black Ghost Knifefish twisted sinuously in the water, fin rippling hypnotically, reminding her of an underwater ballet dancer. Natasha nodded regally and tucked the bag into the crook of her arm. It was a good gift.

"What, no gifts for the rest of us?" Tony asked as he joined them outside with a once more human Bruce. Iron Man's faceplate was open now that the battle was done. Looking Clint up and down, something in Tony's face relaxed. Bruce sent Clint a relieved smile.

"You're rich, Stark. If you want a fish, go out and buy one," Clint said with a wink from puffy, bloodshot eyes. He was trying too hard to act like everything was fine, but being captured and helpless was always difficult to come back from, no matter how often you'd been there. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it, everyone on the team had been there.

"Or you could steal your own," Steve added wryly. "There's hundreds of fish just inside those doors."

Putting a hand to his chest, Tony gave a fake gasp. "Did Captain Virtue just suggest stealing? Be still my glowing arc reactor. What is the world coming to?"

Falling into step next to Nat, Tony peered at the fish in her arms. "Oh well. I'm not allowed to keep pets since I can't keep anything alive but robots. I'll have to settle for being the fish's uncle."

"More like a fishy uncle," Natasha mocked.

"No, I'm Uncle Moneybags," Tony rebutted, striking a pose.

"What a quack, McDuck," Steve drawled.

Tony pointed sharply, "No pop-culture references from the geriatric soldier. Not allowed unless you can quote something that's not G-rated!"

Despite Clint's initial claims of good health, his pace slowed considerably once they reached the open street. The team almost left him behind as they picked up the pace. Trying to hide a pained grimace, Clint's eyes dropped to focus on his feet as he hobbled forward. No one remarked on it. They simply slowed down and closed ranks, placing Clint back into the center of their formation.

Looking concerned when Clint almost tripped turning the corner, Steve tried to reach out a supporting arm. Shying away from the hand, Clint scowled at her mulishly and tried to shuffle forward at a quicker pace. Pressing her lips tight, Nat barely bit back a sharp comment.

"So what kind of fish is that anyway?" Tony asked, filling the silence.

"A Black Ghost Knifefish," Nat answered, "the perfect pet for spies and assassins everywhere."

Tony hummed. "I'm surprised Rogers didn't get her psycho boyfriend one. It sounds like his kind of thing."

Sending Tony a longsuffering look, Steve sighed. "He's not a psycho… or my boyfriend."

Throwing out his hands, Tony looked at the sky. "Why do you always protest that? You bonded Barnes, Sentinel to Guide. You live together. I assume you do more behind locked doors than the kissy-face you regularly perform in public, assume since Jarvis insists on respecting your privacy and won't let me access any video. That sounds like a boyfriend to me, unless there's trouble in paradise? Or is this is a semantics thing? Is there period slang we're missing out on? Should I call him your main squeeze? The polish on your shoes? The clip on your suspenders?"

Snorting, Steve shook her head. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"

Barnes grumpy voice sounded over the com. "I'm gonna clip you if you don't lay off, Stark. Stevie's an idiot but she's my idiot." His voice turned pointed, "I just hope she wises up soon."

"Bucky," Steve said in a warning tone of voice.

Natasha wondered just what the couple were arguing about now. With Steve, it could be anything from seemingly simple to deadly serious. Natasha was very fond of the Captain, but still hadn't completely figured Steve out, much to her consternation. Most people didn't give her much trouble, but Steve was deceptively honorable and straightforward 98% of the time and startling and illogical the other 2%.

She suspected that Phil knew the details of the argument, but there was no getting a secret out of him unless he allowed it. He wouldn't even confirm that there was a secret. Too many years as a SHIELD agent had made him practically inscrutable.

Clearing his throat, Bruce gave the slowly limping Clint a sympathetic look and then turned to Natasha. "Where are you going to keep your new pet? Most fish need a certain temperature and water pH to stay healthy, not to mention food."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Nat looked down at her new pet. "I'll have to contact a pet store when we get back, figure that out."

"Or we could ask Jarvis," Tony said pointedly. "The genius hooked up to almost every database in the world."

The British accent of Stark's AI sounded over the coms. "Why thank you, Sir. I can have a tank and supplies set up and waiting for the _Apteronotus albifrons_ by the time you arrive. Black Ghost Knifefish are a weakly electric Amazonian fish that are nocturnal and eat either live blood worms or tubifex worms preferentially. I'll make sure to add them to your weekly grocery order and keep them in the fridge, as that induces torpor."

"Oh yum," Tony said with a grimace.

"Those worms aren't going to be stored in our food fridge, are they?" Bruce asked unhappily. "I've heard stories of them wiggling out of their containers and climbing throughout all the rest of the fridge compartments."

"I'll keep them contained and isolated, not to worry, Dr. Banner," Jarvis said confidently. "Shall I have them set up the tank in your rooms, Ms. Romanov?"

"No," she said, distracted as Clint stumbled going down a curb. Nat almost grabbed his arm despite the ding to his pride. However, she saw the quinjet just ahead. Phil waited outside with his arms crossed. Barnes sat on edge of the open door with his foot swinging and his arm and goggles gleaming in the sun.

Nat decided that Clint would either make it that far by himself or learn a lesson by falling on his face. To be honest, a hard lesson in humility might do him good. He needed to take better care of himself.

"Jarvis, why don't you have them put the tank on the public floor so the fish won't starve when I'm not around. Plus, that way everyone can enjoy it." And her rooms wouldn't start smelling like fish and bloodworms. Yum indeed.

On reaching the quinjet, Clint looked at the open door four feet off the ground with consternation, but didn't say anything. No one had let down the stairs and he was too proud to ask for help. His joints were swelling up, either from the beating or one of the chemical compounds in the chair. He was going to have trouble climbing up inside. Being stupid and stubborn, he was trying not to admit it even though it was obvious to everyone.

Shaking his head sympathetically, Bruce left Clint to his pride and climbed past Barnes and Coulson into the quinjet.

Phil ran his eyes over Clint with laser-like focus, cataloguing all of his injuries.

However, once done his focus turned to Nat herself, giving her the same thorough examination despite there being no reason to. She thought about being offended at the ding to her pride, but the warmth of his caring smothered that idea. It felt too nice.

Clint rocked back and forth on his feet, staring at the ramp. The tips of Nat's fingers tingled, half with the need to ruffle his hair and half with the urge to thwack him on the back of the head.

A gesture from Phil had her looking over. He tilted his head and flicked his eyes to Clint, offering to take responsibility. She nodded and relaxed. Freed from worry, she climbed up into the quinjet, using Phil's shoulder to push herself up.

She didn't really need the help, but was indulging in her desire to touch him while she still could. If, no, _when_ he and Clint bonded, she'd have to stop touching Phil. Bonded Sentinels could get territorial about the scent of another Sentinel on their Guide and she didn't want to cause either of them distress.

The rest of the team followed her into the jet, with Captain America going last, as was her preference. Barnes rose lithely to his feet and padded deeper into the jet once Steve was aboard, unsnapping his mask and removing his goggles. Natasha lingered near the doorway to watch and listen without being seen by those outside. She made a show of taking off her arsenal one by one and checking them over to provide an excuse in case anyone asked, but really her attention was glued on what was happening outside the quinjet.

Reaching out one hand slowly, telegraphing his every move, Phil touched Clint's chin with delicate fingers and tipped his head up to examine his face. Clint submitted with easy grace, something he'd never done for anyone else, not even Nat. She'd be jealous if it was anyone else, but this was Phil Coulson. If Phil asked, she'd submit to his careful touch too.

"I bet you have a killer headache," Phil murmured. "Any signs of a concussion or broken bones?"

Clint made a negative sound, but didn't move his head away from the fingers cupping his jaw. She could see the flick of his eyes as he ran them slowly over Phil's face, using his Sentinel eyesight to explore the textures and contours in that special way he had. When Clint adored someone, it was always so obvious… to Natasha, at least. Coulson didn't seem to notice. That, or he just didn't know how to act upon it. Frustrating, silly men.

Finally Clint stirred himself to speak. "No, it was just a superficial beating. They wanted to try out their new Sentinel Interrogation Chair, so they went light with the physical stuff."

Phil sucked in his breath and leaned forward to gaze more carefully into Clint's eyes, sliding his hand around to cup the back of Clint's neck, his fingers burrowing into the short hair on the back of Clint's head. "They had a SIC? How are your levels? Do you need help finding your baseline?" Phil thumb rubbed along Clint's jaw, rasping in the short stubble.

Not waiting for an answer, Phil shared his Guide gift with Clint, a Sentinel in distress. Phil's spirit animal, a German Shepherd named Captain (after Phil's hero Captain America), appeared as a translucent presence by Phil's side. He was beautiful. All three of them were.

At this distance and with her limited access to the astral plane because of her partial status, it should be impossible to notice anything. Nevertheless, Nat clearly felt the moment Phil thinned his mental shields and released a wave of psychic strength. She'd never felt anything quite like it. Most Guides had focused bursts of empathy, not this. It felt like standing next to a spray of sunshine. Captain looked over his shoulder, met her eyes knowingly, and gave a doggy smile. As the power continued to build, the dog turned transparent and faded from her sight back into the astral plane.

Soothing and strengthening emotions flowed from Phil like warm rain. Tension fell from Clint's shoulders and the lines of his face like water sliding off a duck's back. It should have stopped there, but eddies of power lapped across the distance to splash across Natasha's mind too, a touch she couldn't help but open and respond to. Muscles unknotted and her senses felt more centered. Eyestrain she hadn't even noticed until now disappeared.

The two men made a very enticing picture, standing so close and staring into each other's eyes, their metaphysical energies curving around one another, mental shields intersecting, with the merest gap where someone else might slot into place if she dared to try. Clint wet his bottom lip and Phil's eyes flicked down to trace the sheen. Fierce desire and longing shot through Natasha's body, reverberating through her soul like the strike of a gong.

She turned away.

It was too dangerous. Too impossible. That moment wasn't meant for someone like her. If she tried, she'd only ruin it. Besides, Phil didn't want her that way. She was only his friend. Locking down her senses and the expression trying to creep across her face, she turned and walked with measured treads to a seat on the far side of the plane.

Much sooner than expected, Clint appeared in the cabin and limped over to collapse in the seat next to Natasha.

Mirrored shades once more hiding his eyes, Phil secured the door with a slam. What she could see of his expression looked remote. Not looking around at the team, he moved directly into the cockpit to fly them home. He didn't look like a man who'd just been kissed. In fact, he looked more resigned than blissful. The idling engines quickly revved up. Within a few moments, they'd taken off.

Unable to control her frown, Nat turned to hiss quietly at Clint. "You had the perfect moment. What happened?"

Shoulders bunching up around his ears guiltily, Clint gave her a sideways look. "I wouldn't do that to you. Besides, he was just trying to help. I'm not perfect for him, you are. We all know that."

Flabbergasted by this insanity, Nat stared at Clint in silence.

Misinterpreting it, Clint softly reassured her, "Don't worry. I'm not going to stand in your way with my stupid little crush. I'm just his friend while the two of you love each other. You even have more enhanced senses than I do, which probably means you're a better Sentinel and better to bond with for a Guide. You have a chance of finally making it work with him, unlike us, two partial Sentinels with screwed up pasts." Clint gestured sadly between them. "Not only is Coulson a Guide now, he's still that good man who's trustworthy, honorable, and never looks down on us for being partials or our pasts. You're the strength and belonging he needs in his life. You can be happy together. There's nothing I want more for the two of you."

It didn't matter what she wanted. Nat didn't get what she wanted, but Clint could. "You're mixing up your signals." Nat tried to catch and hold his gaze, but he wouldn't let her.

Giving her a sweet smile, eyes lowered, Clint stood up at Bruce's call and went over to let his wounds be treated at the medical station in the back.

Blinking rapidly, Nat turned to look out the window and think. Clint had always been awful at relationships, but this was a new level of blindness. He thought he only had a crush on Phil? Ha! As if she was that stupid.

And Coulson! Over the years the man had given Clint more time and attention than even his idol, Captain America. Her jealousy had long ago turned into acceptance and indulgence. Even if Clint was somehow miraculously right and Phil actually loved her, there was no way he could ever love her more than he did Clint. Those two were perfect for each other. There'd been active betting pools that Coulson and Barton were banging even during the height of Nat's on-again off-again relationship with Clint. The buy-in on the bet had barely dipped even when fake rumors had swirled around HQ for a week about Clint and Nat's engagement and Coulson himself had believed it and openly congratulated them in the dining hall, asking them if they'd set a date.

Natasha was going to have to think about this and change her strategy for getting the two of them together. Love was for children, she often told herself, but Clint could be both childish and full of childlike wonder, so he deserved the best. Phil was looking for love too. They'd be happy together, she just knew it, and her two favorite people being happy would make her happy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Not 5 by 5**

* * *

Chapter 5 - _Indygodusk_

* * *

Phil spent a restless night plagued by unsettling dreams he couldn't remember upon waking, Walking out of the elevator onto the shared floor of Avengers Tower, he winced at the brightly lit hallway. His head throbbed. He'd like to blame the headache purely on a lack of sleep, but he knew it was much more likely to be from overusing his empathic gifts the day before.

Being an unbonded Guide meant that he had to constantly keep a part of his attention on holding mental shields against other people's emotions. When he didn't, the emotions would press on him like he was a Japanese schoolgirl in an overcrowded train car full of handsy salarymen. Things quickly got unpleasant.

Something about the unusual way Phil had come Online as a Guide also made it harder for him to use his gifts with precision. He either had to use all his concentration to keep his mind closed as tight as a clam or else he tried to use his gifts and they ended up spewing everywhere like an exploding bottle of soda (not champagne, there was nothing to celebrate about a lack of control at his age).

When a Sentinel bonded with a Guide, he'd been told, they added their own shields into the mix, making it easier to control your own gifts and to ignore the press of other people's emotions. That sounded nice, but Phil wasn't going to bond with someone just to get shielding. He'd spent most of his life being a shield for others and wasn't about to start playing the damsel in distress now.

Of course, a bonded Guide also helped a Sentinel control their senses and not zone so often. Phil was fine with helping other people, but he'd rather struggle with his shields and the headaches for the rest of his life than bond with someone merely for convenience. At his age, after all he'd experienced, Phil wanted more from a partner. He deserved more.

Until then, he'd do his best to ignore the deep down ache of loneliness and need that he instinctively knew only the right Sentinel could fill. Perhaps he was being greedy, but when Phil pictured his perfect Sentinel, he always thought of both Clint and Natasha. It flew in the face of conventional wisdom. Nevertheless, Phil didn't care that they were only partial Sentinels or that people always meant a pair and not a triad when they spoke of bonding.

Frustratingly, his empathy told him that they cared for him too (love was too hard to define when his own hopes skewed the analysis), perhaps even enough to accept a bond, but neither of them acted interested when he tried to flirt. Clint still insisted on using Coulson and Barton instead of first names and avoided private conversations. Nat kept holding herself back from saying something and then shoving Phil off on an unsuspecting Clint.

Phil didn't get it, not yet... but he would. This was too important to give up on. If he watched long enough, something would start to make sense and then he could make a better plan.

The muted gray light of a cloudy morning seeped through the floor to ceiling windows. Following a sawing noise to the kitchen, he found Thor asleep at the table and snoring with his arms wrapped around a mostly empty mixing bowl with the remnants of honey-drizzled oatmeal. Over in the lounge, Bucky Barnes sat sprawled on the biggest couch with Steve Rogers, sharing a large bag of granola and watching Xena try to save Gabrielle from the dream god Morpheus.

Rubbing his nose to hide the boyish smile sneaking onto his lips at seeing his childish heroes come to life, Phil turned away and finally noticed Natasha sitting quietly in the corner by the new tank holding her black ghost knifefish. The ribbon fin on the bottom of the fish undulated hypnotically as it swam in place. Arms and legs crossed, Natasha watched it meditatively, to all appearances completely at peace.

Phil paused, his smile fading. Both his empathy and long acquaintance in reading Natasha's most subtle expression told him something was wrong. She felt strained. The crinkles at the edges of her eyes looked too smooth and she had tension in her wrists. Most glaring, however, was the strand of hair trailing down the side of her neck, missed when she was securing her ponytail. It was a subtle imperfection she normally never allowed herself, the equivalent of someone else standing dazed in the middle of the room wearing only their underwear and one sock, hair flattened to the side of their head, with toothpaste smeared across their cheek.

Turning on the electric tea kettle to start the water boiling, Phil went to the tea cupboard and searched for a specific tin. Clint tried to always buy some for Nat, even though he hated the taste of it himself. She only drank it on bad days, but it had a way of soothing her demons. On the upper shelf way in the back he finally found a tall cylinder of Mango Ceylon by Republic of Tea. Inside the package under several circular teabags was hidden a squished cardboard box printed with cyrillic lettering. Some habits of not revealing a weakness were too hard to break, even in a new home.

Pulling out the misshapen box, Phil opened it and shook the loose tea leaves inside into a tea strainer. He poured boiling water over the top and set the timer for five minutes. Fishing out one of the real Mango Ceylon tea bags from the container, he made himself a second cup. Phil would drink the Russian tea in a pinch, but prefered fruity teas when he had the chance.

When the tea was ready, Phil took both cups over to where Nat sat by the fish tank. When she blinked at him in surprise, not having noticed him earlier, he felt even more concerned. She took the tea and sipped. A long sigh left her mouth. "You always seem to know when I need this," she confided softly.

"Professional spook," he said mildly, sitting down in the chair across from her and placing his mug on the small table between the two chairs, "retired." She took another sip as Phil added, "And more importantly, someone who cares." Phil took a sip of his own tea and waited patiently. If she wanted to talk, she would, but there would be no forcing her confidences. The hot tea brought his own headache down to a muted throb.

After enough small sips to drain most of her mug, Natasha finally spoke, though her gaze didn't stray from the dim fishtank housing her new black ghost knifefish. "Nothing's really wrong, I just had a lot of strange dreams last night that left me feeling out of sorts. I was travelling through a rainforest—the normal kind, not the glowing blue of the astral plane—and I fell into a river and was eaten alive by piranhas. Then it switched to walking down a trail and brushing up against a poison dart frog, becoming paralyzed and frothing at mouth. Before I could die of that, an anaconda slithered up and swallowed me whole. It continued on like that the entire night, being attacked and dying by a different deadly rainforest creature each time. My spirit animal tried to help out, but she kept arriving too late and all her presence did was reset the scenario for a different deadly attack."

"That sounds unpleasant," Phil said sympathetically.

"Unpleasant and frustrating." Natasha frowned faintly at the fishtank. "There are way too many people wishing me dead and trying to kill me for some random animal to do the job. I mean, what a waste. I'm called the Black Widow, but when I kill someone, it isn't an actual spider doing it. It's almost insulting."

Phil couldn't help but smile at her grumpy affront. "You are certainly meant for better things than death by an Amazonian creature, no matter how deadly. If I had my way, you'd live a long and glorious life and die peacefully, surrounded by those who love you."

Turning to look at him as if she just couldn't help herself, Nat's face softened. Nostrils flaring delicately as she scented him, she licked her lips and asked with unusual hesitance, "Can I ask you something?"

"You won't know until you try," Phil replied, curious and hopeful.

Expression going smooth, she uncrossed her legs. "You don't have to say yes, but… can I do a partial imprint on you? Just to help ground my senses. They're a bit off this morning." She shrugged, as if it didn't really matter one way or the other.

Warmth bloomed in Phil's chest. He looked down to unbutton and roll up the cuffs of his shirt. "You are welcome to take whatever you need." Holding out his bare wrists, he looked back up and met her eyes with complete honesty. "The answer is always yes. All I am is yours for the taking, if you want it." _If you want me._

Nat's jade eyes widened by a fraction, the dusky rose of her lips parting on a silent inhale. The air between them suddenly felt as thick and sweet as honey. Phil thinned his shields and waited for her to make the first move.

During Guide training, he'd practiced helping Sentinels in distress, letting them balance their senses using a partial imprint on his surface traits, but that had always been with new acquaintances. Natasha was both a friend and comrade, someone he felt a strong attraction to. Phil had a feeling this wouldn't be as simple as those classroom exercises.

Reaching out, Nat grasped Phil's wrists with confidence, starting her imprint with the sense of touch. Her thumbs rubbed firmly across his pulsing heartbeat in a way that almost seemed possessive, but that had to be wishful thinking on his part. When her fingers slid up and down his skin, there was no way she could miss the way his pulse jumped. Not only could she feel it, she must hear the racing of his heart with her Sentinel hearing too. Although he'd lost the battle with his pulse, Phil fought to at least keep his breathing even and professional.

As if meeting his challenge, Nat moved on to scent. Eyes closing, she breathed in his scent as if receiving a priceless gift. Dropping her head forward as gracefully as the soft arch of a flower's stem, she lifted Phil's hands to her face, closed her eyes, and inhaled slowly and deeply, dragging the tip of her nose along the back of his fingers, over his knuckles, across his hand, and up his forearm. The drag of her skin and the warm sigh of her breath tickled in a way that felt anything but funny.

This ritual was meant to help a Sentinel balance their senses by focusing on a Guide. It was an honor to be asked, not a come-on. Practicing this at the Sentinel-Guide Center had felt like practicing a hand-to-hand technique with one of SHIELD's new recruits during their orientation period. It had never felt so erotic. Phil shifted in his chair and surreptitiously crossed his legs.

Lips curving subtly, Nat turned his wrists over, exposing the vulnerable river delta of pale blue veins flowing into his palms. Even though he knew it was coming at some point, the first warm, wet lick of her tongue across his skin made his muscles clench and sweat bead on his brow. Phil barely held still as she grounded her sense of taste on his skin. The tip of her warm tongue traced over each of the creases on his inner wrists, back and forth, left wrist followed by right, tasting the ridges and valleys thoroughly. Phil gulped hard and fought to hold onto the slipping reins of his self-control. Blowing a warm breath over his wet skin, Nat watched between lashes of red gold as he lost the battle and let loose with a full body shiver.

Smug, she languidly moved on to grounding her sense of hearing. Cupping each of his hands, she moved them over her ears, limiting outside sounds. Those gorgeous jade green eyes slipped closed as she held her breath and focused on the noises transmitted by his body. Being allowed to cradle Natasha's deceptively delicate face between his large, calloused hands, Phil felt a swell of awe for the strong, beautiful woman directing him. He was honored that she trusted him enough to help.

Using his gifts, Phil could tell that the partial imprint was doing exactly what it should, helping Natasha bring her Sentinel senses under control. The discordant notes in her aura and body language faded as she balanced herself using his body cues and Guide aura. A raised red rash peeking out of her collar was going flat and fading to pink. Natasha slid his hands down her cheeks to meet at her lips, pressing a soft kiss to each of his palms that felt like a burning brand and making him realize that his own headache had completely disappeared, leaving him feeling fresh and energized.

Gently Nat lowered his hands. With a resigned sigh, she opened her eyes, the pupils dilated large and black for the merest of moments before the morning sunlight caused them to contract down and her irises to fan back out, reminding him of the green patina on ancient bronze shields. Hands steady, Nat folded down Phil's shirt to cover his wrists and buttoned his cuffs for him. "Thank you," she said, face calm but voice huskier than normal.

"You're welcome, any time," Phil said, proud of how steady his voice sounded considering the thrumming energy racing beneath his skin.

Showing unusual consideration for Avengers, Steve and Bucky were very obviously keeping their eyes focused on the TV instead of looking at Phil and Nat imprinting in the corner. Then again, they were a bonded Sentinel-Guide pair. They didn't need to look to know exactly what was going on. Besides which, they'd gone much further in front of everyone when they'd first bonded, despite Steve's usual reserve and modesty.

Thor was still snoring like a buzzsaw in the kitchen.

Heavy thoughts swirled behind the green glass in Nat's eyes as she stared at Phil. She parted her lips as if to say something, but before she could, Phil found his eye caught by something strange over her shoulder. "Has that neon orange blotch on the fish's head always glowed like that?" he asked, picking up his tea mug to use as a weapon, just in case. The glow slowly increased, becoming strong enough to make the copper highlights in Nat's hair come alive and paint the floor and ceiling orange.

Before he'd even finished asking the question, Nat had flowed to her feet in a sinuous move that put her protectively between Phil and the fishtank. He'd be offended, but Phil had long ago learned humility around superheroes when it came to his fighting capabilities. The Black Widow could tie most people on the planet into pretzels, himself included. Over the years, Nat had lost to him exactly twice in sparring and both times he'd won only by catching her completely by surprise. She'd even flung Steve and Thor into the mat a time or two and regularly sent Clint, who had six inches and a hundred pounds on her, sprawling.

"No, the glowing is new," Nat said calmly, palming a knife into her hand from a hidden sheath as she stepped closer to the fishtank. "The orange shape has also changed from an hourglass into a pointed oval."

Steve, followed by Bucky, vaulted over the couch to join them by the fishtank with barely suppressed glee at the implication of a fight, spurred on by Xena's undulating battle cry on the TV.

Phil backed up just in case, saying, "I know that some aquatic species, like cuttlefish, can change their coloration patterns, but I don't think that knifefish fall under that umbrella. That glow also doesn't look natural. Jarvis?"

"The glowing and pattern shift is definitely outside of known parameters for the species, Agent Coulson," Jarvis immediately answered. "I've sent out an alert to building security and the rest of the Avengers, just in case."

Yawning loudly, Thor ambled over, scratching his belly. "Are you seriously that concerned over a glowing fish the size of my hand?" He tilted his head sideways and added contemptuously, "Rather, the size of my little brother Loki's hand. I could squash that fish with two fingers or, even simpler, flip it out of the tank into the air where it can't breathe. Problem solved." He held out his hands and raised one brow.

"Why don't you stick your hand in there and try it out for us then?" Barnes asked with a smirk.

Steve frowned and slapped Barnes on the arm. "No, let's wait for the scientists to weigh in on this. The strange glowing could be something important."

"Like a message from aliens!" Tony cried as he entered the room, "But wait, the aliens already invaded and we slapped that booty harder than a double-D in a Hooters bar."

"Excuse me, Sir," Jarvis said.

Eyes narrowing, Steve sent Tony a glare. "I don't know what that means, but I can tell it was somehow offensive to women and inappropriate. You have that look on your face."

"Whatever Rogers." Tony said absently, waving a strange device in front of the fish tank. "The only feminist allowed in this tower is the one in my bed."

"Sir," Jarvis repeated with more urgency.

"In a second," Tony said, frowning at the readings.

Clearing his throat to stave off the lecture forming on Steve's face, Phil said, "Focusing back on the problem at hand, there are more than one type of alien species out there, as I'm sure Thor can attest—"

"Yeah, don't be so Midgard-centric, Stark," Thor called.

Offended, Tony made to argue, but Phil spoke louder to head him off, "—but it is much more likely that the glowing fish has a mundane or at least Earthly explanation."

"An explanation that will have to wait unless it's actively spewing acid or something," Clint called, jogging into the room with a quiver over one shoulder. "There's a magic attack or something going on just outside. If you look out the window, you'll see what I mean."

"As I would have informed you if you would have just listened," Jarvis pointed out acerbically. "But being the bigger personality, I'll watch the glowing black ghost knifefish while you deal with the rainforest."

"What rainforest?" Phil asked, looking outside. He blinked. "Oh, that one."

The base of the tower had become a bright green canopy of jungle trees spreading out for several city blocks. Scarlet, gold, and teal macaws flew above the branches and monkeys and panthers moved through the shadows of the trees. Mist and pockets of low lying rain clouds obscured most of the surrounding city frow view, hiding the impact of the rainforest on cars and pedestrians.

Iron Man's suit flowed over his body. "I want it on record that the jungle down there is not my fault!"

"That's a very suspicious statement," Nat pointed out. "You sure about that? You didn't make any strange deals with South American businessmen lately? Or flirt with the wrong bruja?"

"Is there such a thing as the right bruja when it comes to flirting?" Clint opened his eyes wide in mock innocence and turned to Phil, "I'm asking for a friend." He looked a lot better after a full night's sleep being drugged to the gills against his will. Even the bruising on his arms and face didn't look that bad.

Snorting, Steve shook her head. "I'd stay away from witches in bars, Clint. I doubt alcohol and magic mix well."

Hidden drawers along the walls popped open as each of the Avengers armed themselves for battle. Stark had weapons caches hidden all over the building.

Barnes had disappeared at a run when everyone had gone to the window, but he returned quickly with his full kit and Steve's shield along with an extra gun holster. Tossing the shield at Steve, who caught it without looking away from the window, Barnes pulled on his jacket and buckled it quickly.

Steve took the gun holster Barnes passed her and draped it over a chair instead of on her body. "I don't need three guns to fight a tree, Bucky," she complained. "Two's more than enough." Steve preferred carrying only one gun if possible; Bucky wanted her armed with five or six. They butted heads about it regularly.

Barnes's sour expression disappeared behind the snap of his mask. "I feel the need to ask the obvious question here, how do you fight a jungle?"

"Bulldozers and axes?" Clint offered, placing a few more specialty arrows in his quiver. "Fire!" he gleefully switched out two of his arrows.

"Do not light the city on fire if you can help it," Phil ordered, sending everyone a stern look as his fingers moved rapidly across the screen of his phone. "For all we know, the rainforest is merely an illusion."

"Wait a minute!" Tony twirled away from the strange scene outside the window, "Aren't magic problems out of our purview? Can't we shuffle this off on that stuck-up weirdo in the red cape, Doctor Stupid or whoever?"

"Doctor Strange," Phil said absently, reading the text on his phone. Reaching the end, he sighed. "Doctor Strange is currently in Sicily to deal with an outbreak of interdimensional demons. We're on our own for this, unless you want me calling in support from the Fantastic Four or the X-men?"

Tony gave two emphatic metal thumbs down. "Ugh no! They're worse than Dr. Strangelove. At least there's only one of him, not a whole crew of identically dressed backup dancers. N to the O, no. I'm sure we can figure out the rainforest downstairs by ourselves. Right Avengers?"

"Do not fear, my friends," Thor boomed. "I have fought magic before and always prevailed." His entire body became suffused with hope. "Perhaps this is Loki, merely playing a trick on us? I have not seen my brother in some time."

"Some trick," Steve shook her head. "That's a lot of trees to get rid of, but," she smirked, "I have been confused with a lumberjack before. I'm sure we'll be fine and if not, Phil can always call later for some magic-savvy reinforcements." Gesturing towards the elevator to the lobby, Steve bounced on her toes, "Avengers, let's go hunt us a magic user."


	6. Chapter 6

**Not 5 by 5**

* * *

Chapter 6 - _Indygodusk_

* * *

"The animals and trees in this rainforest are all illusions given weight, saturated with the magic user's dark emotions," Barnes said warily. "They feel wild and dangerous. Anger festers in their hearts. Black are their thoughts. Strong is their hate. They will harm you if they can."

"Wait…" Clint blinked and zoomed in on the Winter Soldier walking through the rainforest far below Clint's perch up on a skyscraper, "wasn't that a quote from _The Lord of the Rings_ movies? By the big tree guy, um, Treebeard?"

"Seriously, Barnes?" Nat sounded amused.

Before Barnes could answer, Hulk waved his arms and shouted, "Hulk like big battles! Want to ride oliphant! Fight orcs and dwarves!"

"I think the dwarves are good guys," Clint pointed out. It was funny how Hulk liked movies way more than Banner ever did.

"Oh wait, is that the one with all the short people with curly hair?" Captain America asked.

"Who cares? I hate magic. It's stupid," Iron Man groused, firing his repulsors at the flock of scarlet, gold, and teal macaws swarming his suit with sharp beaks and claws. "I have bird poop all over my helmet. How am I supposed to be taken seriously with bird poop on my face?"

Clint switched position to the other side of his balcony perch and fired a net arrow. "Newsflash, Iron Man, no one takes you seriously," he smirked. "In fact, the poop is an improvement on the suit design." His arrow exploded over the flock of macaws just as he'd planned, scooping them up into the net and trapping the bag of birds against the side of a building.

"This coming from you? A man with _seriously_ bad taste," Tony scoffed. "You probably think bird poop is nature's paintbrush." Iron Man zoomed off to the right, plucking up a fleeing civilian under each arm and depositing them on a high balcony. The magical rainforest, which was eighty percent harmless illusion and twenty percent physically deadly and/or irritating, seemed limited to the first ten floors, so anything above that seemed safe.

Stowing his bow, Clint began jumping from balcony to balcony, trying to get into a better position to see the rest of the team. It sounded like they were fighting a pincer attack from a horde of jaguars, rattlesnakes, and anacondas. Just another day at the office for the Avengers. "Your bad taste in art is famous, Stark, don't even try going there. I have multiple witnesses to back me up, including your lady love."

A flash of armor in the corner of Clints eye proved to be Thor, who was down the street single-handedly keeping a horde of spiders away from a crowded bagel shop. His booming laughter echoed off the buildings. Thor's red cape and golden hair flashed brightly as he leapt, rolled, and swung his hammer in wide, joyful arcs. He had no need of help, unlike the rest of the team who were closer to the center of the illusion.

Clint did a chin up to the narrow ledge above and walked to the corner until he found a good position on top of an adorably ugly stone gargoyle. If the spirit animals of partial Sentinels had set forms and could leave the astral plane outside of dreams, Clint would bet that his Robin Hood would have one of those so-ugly-it's-lovable faces.

RH always had the same wild amber eyes, but the rest of his appearance morphed upon every meeting. He knew RH and Nat's Mishka (which totally was named after a teddy bear no matter what she tried to claim otherwise), conspired together to keep their crazy Sentinels safe and happy. He bet RH and Phil's Captain would get along great too if they ever had a chance to meet, but that was probably wishful thinking.

A subtle movement on the edge of the fighting caught Clint's eye. The illusionary canopy of trees was thick, but there were just enough gaps in the branches for him to make out the clearing where the team fought. Zooming in with his Sentinel eyesight even as he reached for his quiver, Clint effortlessly switched from grabbing just one arrow to two. In a movement so practiced it required no thought, Clint notched both arrows against his bowstring, pulled with his entire body, and released. The bolts flashed out at an angle, lodging into the two rattlers about to strike at Black Widow and Captain America. Instead of lying inert, the dead snakes became two red trails of smoke that dissipated in the breeze.

That was different.

"Thanks," Captain America acknowledged. "And an update for everyone. The illusions started turning into red smoke when killed instead of leaving fake bodies behind."

Black Widow seemed to be wielding her knives and guns with a bit more enthusiasm than usual as she mowed down the magical animals with brutal efficiency. The red cloud of dying illusions painted her body in a hellish light. "Everything alright over there, Widow?" Captain America asked, noticing the same thing. "You seem a bit more... vicious than usual."

Spinning in place with her knives to eviscerate two jaguars and then decapitate a seven foot long anaconda with one chop, Natasha answered, "I spent last night dreaming about dying over and over in a rainforest. This is much better than traditional therapy." She kicked a jaguar in the neck with a loud crunch. After a few seconds of twitching, it turned to red smoke.

"Did anyone sleep well last night?" Iron Man asked.

"I slept," Clint said, shooting a snake sneaking up on a civilian who'd just run out of their safely locked car like an idiot, "but only because I was drugged."

"We didn't do much sleeping," Barnes drawled. A partially dead snake hit him in the arm a second later, thrown by a red-faced Steve.

"Pictures or it didn't happen," Tony sing-songed, zooming down to join the rest of the team through a gap between two trees. All of a sudden Iron Man braked in midair and frantically rolled to avoid the twenty foot anaconda the Hulk was whipping around his body like a weapon and toy in one. The snake's body swept the jungle floor clean and sent animals flying out of his path like bowling pins.

"If anyone's filming this, we are so getting hate mail from PETA," Iron Man said, blasting a jaguar leaping from a tree branch towards the Winter Soldier's back and punching down at the anaconda trying to wrap around his leg. It's head dissolved into red mist, followed by its body a moment later. "Though at least they're dissolving now instead of just forming piles of bodies. Coulson, draft a form apology letter for the animal folks, will you?"

"I'm not your secretary, Mr. Stark. You have full-time staff screening your hate mail already. A little more vitriol won't make much of a difference," Phil said dryly. Just hearing his voice made Clint's vision go a hair sharper, his breathing a tad more efficient.

"Do we have any ideas of who's controlling this or how to stop it yet?" Captain America asked, ducking a bird attack.

Phil promptly answered. "I'm getting a report on that now…. Alright, my contacts say the spell is most likely the work of a bruja from the border area between Colombia and Venezuela. They rarely travel far from home unless on a quest for vengeance, but once either appeased or publically disgraced, they are honorbound to leave."

"I knew the bruja was one of Stark's ex-girlfriends," Nat gloated.

"Excuse me," Tony objected loudly, "I never dated any brujas!"

"Mmhmm," Nat hummed skeptically.

"You sure about that?" the Winter Soldier asked with fake sweetness, peppering the writhing jungle floor with bullets.

Iron Man threw up his hands, "Admittedly, I had a lot of witchy one-night stands. I didn't bother checking if it was merely a personality trait or actual magical talent. I wasn't really interested in much talking." Seconds later he fell forward beneath the weight of a jaguar raking claws down his back. Captain America threw her shield, turning the orange and black patterned cat into red smoke.

"Pride goeth before the fall," Barnes said virtuously, catching the shield on the rebound and throwing it back to Captain America. The Winter Soldier's goggles were missing and he had a blood-matted patch of unexpectedly short and ragged hair. A jaguar must have swiped his head with its claws.

Kicking an anaconda in the face, Steve wiped the dripping condensation off her helmet to keep her eyes clear and spun in a circle with a thoughtful look on her face. "You have the scripture wrong. It's, ' _Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall_.'"

"Huh, actually, that fits even better," Clint said, firing another arrow. "I think Tony's picture is next to the word _haughty_ in the dictionary."

"Yes, yes, thank you Captain Sunday School and the church choir, but you're missing the fact that it's not haughtiness if you really are superior to everyone." Iron Man sent double repulsor blasts at the branches overhead, releasing a cloud of red mist as the attackers in the trees dissolved. "Which I am."

"Alright Avengers, I just got word that the bruja has to be at the center of the spell to maintain the corporeal illusions," Phil interrupted firmly. "Hawkeye, where do you estimate the center of the spell to be?"

Standing up on top of the ugly gargoyle's head, Clint examined the edges of the rainforest and calculated. "Actually, the team is only about a hundred meters north of the center. That's probably why so many of their attackers are corporeal compared to what we faced at the start."

"Captain Rogers, how would you like to proceed?" Phil asked courteously instead of just ordering them where he thought they'd do the most good.

Glancing around at her team, Cap gestured them North, "Hawkeye, stay our eyes up top and let us know if our advance alters the illusion at all. Does Thor need any support?"

A quick glance showed the God of Thunder whooping gleefully as he wrestled with two anacondas. The snakes were losing. "Negative, Thor's fine," Clint reported.

Through a gap in the trees, he saw both Captain America and Black Widow abruptly turn and look west. "Screaming civilians," Nat said. "Give me a lift, Iron Man?"

"Go," Cap seconded. "Barnes, Hulk, and I will take the bruja." She broke into a trot north with the Winter Soldier moving in perfect synch at her heels. All but a few animals abandoned their attacks on Iron Man and Black Widow to try and stop them, but Cap used her shield like a battering ram and let Barnes guard her back. Hulk's huge anaconda whip finally gave up and dissipated from his hands. He pouted and turned to trundle after Captain America. The three moved into the thickest part of the rainforest as Iron Man flew west to rescue the civilians with Black Widow.

The clouds and mist winding through the gaps in the trees swirled and darkened. "The mist is getting thicker," Clint reported. Between one breath and the next, everyone on the rainforest floor disappeared from view. Clint hated it. Scanning the buildings nearby, he looked for a better perch.

"We're engaging," Steve announced.

A female voice suddenly rumbled through the trees, shouting, "I'll be! I'll be!" Just what she wanted to be wasn't clear, or why she was screaming about it. Seconds later a string of foreign words echoed forebodingly through the city streets. It seemed to be coming from the center of the rainforest where Rogers, Barnes, and the Hulk had disappeared.

The illusionary rainforest abruptly convulsed as if hit by a hard wind. Everything flickered. "The edges of the illusion are dissolving," Clint reported.

"Roger that," Phil acknowledged.

The rainforest center still looked solid, but the boundaries began to dissolve, revealing trapped motorists, crowded storefronts, and sidewalks with clots of hysterical pedestrians.

A bold red movement caught Clint's eye down the block as a copse of trees disappeared. It was Thor's cape fluttering to the ground as the tree it had been hanging from disappeared. The demigod himself was nowhere to be seen.

"I'll be!" the voice shrieked again.

I'll be _what_? Clint wondered. _Back?_ Arnold already had that one copyrighted. Just what was she trying to tell them?

"Anyone have eyes on Thor?" Leaning out as far as he could go, relying on his Sentinel enhanced sense of touch and balance, Clint scanned the scene below. Another half-block of trees disappeared. "We really need to get a com that stands up to Thor's lightning," he muttered to himself.

A flock of vividly-colored macaws burst into the air only to disappear between one wingbeat and the next, along with another fifty yards of trees.

Finally Clint caught sight of Thor's boots. The Norse God of Thunder's body was belly down on the ground with only his legs showing. Clint reported it over the com even as he carefully moved down the crumbling, narrow ledge to get a better vantage point. The rest of Thor's body was blocked from view by the food truck for Phoebe's Frosting Fantasies. PFF had awesome cupcakes and chocolate covered sandwich cookies, but even Thor should know better than to stop for a snack in the middle of a battle. Thor's legs shifted back and forth on the ground, but he didn't get up.

The sight made alarm bells ring in Clint's head. Something was wrong.

Pressing his lips tight, Clint slung his bow over his back in preparation for parkouring eighteen storeys down to the ground below. There were a few uncomfortably large gaps, but he'd done stupider things before. He could make it.

Just as Clint leaned forward, his muscles tensed to make the first jump, Coulson's voice snapped into his ear. "Barton, don't you dare!"

Clint's body instantly jerked flat back against the building in pavlovian response to an order from that voice. Annoyed, Clint argued,"Thor's down and needs help!"

"What he doesn't need is to find you smeared on the ground like a bug on a windshield. Use a zipline or stay put! The team still needs your eyes and arrows up high."

Frustrated and worried, Clint shifted on his toes but didn't jump. Anyone else giving the order and he probably would have, but he'd learned early on in his time at SHIELD that Coulson was almost always right when he put his foot down. Out of ziplines, Clint's eyes darted around, looking for a better path down that Coulson would accept.

"I'm on my way," Tony cut in before Clint could compose a better argument for why he should be allowed to jump off a building without a safety line. Seconds later, Iron Man rocketed into view at full speed and braked sharply next to Phoebe's Frosting Fantasies Food Truck.

Tony expelled an explosive breath as he landed, ratcheting up Clint's worry. Then he reared back and kicked Thor's foot hard. Thor's leg jerked.

"Thor's fine," Tony reported. He disappeared around the side of the truck. "Seriously, what are you doing down there? You had Hawkeye losing his feathers in worry."

Through Tony's com came the muted sound of Thor's voice. "Mjolnir fell down the drain during my last fight. If I summon her, it will cause a crater in the street and send these cars and their passengers plunging down into injury or death. I'm trying to reach her, but having difficulties."

"Move over and let a real man do it," Tony ordered impatiently.

"A real man who relies on the might of machines instead of his own two hands? Don't make me laugh," Thor grunted, obviously straining. "Besides, you're not worthy to lift it. I've almost got her."

"The laugh's on you, Chuckles, since you keep failing. I can widen the hole for your sausage fingers without compromising the street's structural integrity. Just watch my back to keep off Toucan Sam and let a master work."

"A master of menial labor, perhaps, but very well. I suppose as a Prince it is only natural I am above such things. Unlike someone like you, a man used to having dirt under his fingernails." Thor's big boots disappeared from view as he stood up.

Sagging back against the building, Clint exhaled hard and shook off his anxiety. He returned his attention to the center of the rainforest where Rogers, Barnes, and Hulk were (hopefully) fighting with the bruja. More trees disappeared, rapidly shrinking the rainforest. Clint pulled his bow back out along with an arrow, ready to help as soon as a shot presented itself.

"Hulk SMASH!" Trees began toppling over and exploding into red mist, like water balloons filled with cherry Jello (Tony had gotten rid of the white carpets after that memorable prank war).

"Which one is she?!" Barnes shouted over the _ratta-tat-tat_ of his semi-automatic. "They all feel the same!"

"I'll be!" the bruja's voice shrieked.

"The left—no, far right! Right! Right!" Captain America called frantically.

"Of course, the weakest one," Barnes acknowledged with grim satisfaction, the sound of his gunshots changing as he switched guns.

A minute later, the illusion of the trees bulged out like slime squeezed through a child's fingers and then exploded, leaving behind opaque green fog.

"Did you get her?" Phil asked intently.

As the fog began to dissipate in the breeze off the river, Clint searched for a shot. Two figures appeared in the green cloud, turning in a circle in the middle of the street with weapons raised. Green skin barely visible through the green fog, Hulk stared down at his empty hands in confusion.

"Negative, she got away," Cap finally said, lowering his gun and shield in frustration.

"What do you mean you let her get away?" Iron Man snapped.

The Winter Soldier turned and glared in his direction. "There was no letting. We had her and then she turned into fog along with the rest of her creations. Maybe if you'd reinforced us a little sooner instead of hanging around stuffing your face at the food truck we'd have caught her."

"That's rich coming from you," Iron Man began —

"Alright Avengers," Captain America's voice cut in firmly, "back to the tower for a debrief. We won this time, but I'm sure she'll be back. Let's make sure we're prepared for it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Not 5 by 5**

* * *

Chapter 7 by _Indygodusk_

* * *

Back at the tower, the Avengers cleaned up and glumly gathered for lunch on the public floor. Steve and James inhaled their food with a minimum of conversation and then disappeared to their rooms. Bruce stared into his teacup with an annoyed frown, but didn't drink. No one seemed particularly chipper.

Clint picked at the remnants of his pasta while watching Phil out of the corner of his eye. Phil seemed lost in thought, staring unseeingly at the new fish tank. Phil had drifted in for lunch, caught the bottle of water thrown at him by Steve, and quietly sat down off to the side. Even with unenhanced hearing, Clint could hear Phil's stomach growl across the room, but the man hadn't even looked at the pesto pasta on the counter and pesto was his favorite.

Phil often forgot to take care of himself when chewing over a problem. Clint tried to catch Nat's eye to get her to go over and do something about it, but Nat was too busy glaring down at her wild rice and scratching at the bug bites on her arms. Turns out that the illusionary mosquitos still left welts. Nevertheless, her situational awareness was usually better than that. He suspected that she was deliberately ignoring him.

He just couldn't figure out why.

Ever since Phil had come back into their lives, Clint had tried to make himself scarce so Phil and Nat could bond as Guide and Sentinel. As a partial Sentinel only famous because of his eyesight and aim, compared to Nat who was absolutely amazing at everything, Clint could clearly see the writing on the wall. He was a one-trick pony. He'd stoically stuffed down his own feelings and put brakes on renewing his close friendship with Phil. The most extraordinary man and breathtaking woman he knew deserved happiness with each other.

Across the room, Phil absently rubbed his stomach. His empty, hungry stomach that was shouting for food but being ignored by Phil's analytical mind. The compulsion to take care of him grew too strong for Clint to ignore.

Standing up abruptly from the table, he caught the faintest hint of a bittersweet smile curving Nat's lip before she tilted her head down, hiding her expression as she took a bite of her rice and chewed. He'd have to figure her out later. Clint stalked into the kitchen and filled up a bowl with pesto pasta, making sure it had plenty of cherry tomatoes, sprinkled on two spoonfuls of feta cheese, and grabbed a napkin and a fork. He almost quailed at that point. After running away from the man for so long, it felt strange to seek him out.

Strange and exciting.

Heart thumping, Clint walked over to Coulson's chair and held out the bowl. "Here. You should eat."

Blinking, Phil looked up with surprise and then down at the bowl of pasta. His face softened with pleasure even as he shook his head. "Thank you, but I'm not—" his stomach interrupted him with a growl.

"You've gotta learn to lie better, Coulson. You've got a reputation to maintain," Clint teased gently.

Phil's lips quirked. "I'll take that under advisement." He turned the heady weight of his full attention onto Clint, reaching out and taking the pasta bowl, fingers sliding across and through Clint's fingers intimately. "Thank you. Will you join me?" he gestured to the adjacent armchair and watched Clint with hopeful eyes the clear blue of a dawn sky over rolling wheat fields.

Clint knew he shouldn't, but once indulged, he couldn't quite help but continue to break his resolution to stay distant. Being the center of Phil's attention felt too good. "Sure," he sat down, but then realized his posture was too eager and made himself sprawl back into the chair.

The edges of Phil's eyes crinkled in pleasure. He took a big bite of pasta and hummed surprise. "I love tomatoes and feta in pesto," he murmured, almost to himself.

"I know," Clint said simply. Over the years, he'd treasured up every bit of knowledge about Coulson's likes and dislikes that the man had let slip. It had taken years of careful study, but Clint hadn't resented a minute of it. The more he knew, the more he liked.

Lowering his fork, Phil looked Clint square in the eye. "Thank you."

When nothing else was immediately forthcoming, Clint felt himself start to squirm. He was an accomplished sniper used to holding still for hours no matter how uncomfortable the perch or environmental conditions. You wouldn't know it looking at him now. In the rising tension, Clint broke first. "Coulson—"

"Please," Phil interrupted, raising his pesto-smeared fork, "call me Phil. The distance it puts between us is unnecessary and hurtful." Clint squirmed at the complete honesty in Phil's voice. "I'm asking not as your former handler, but as someone who deeply values our friendship. You know me too well for last names. You know exactly how I like my pasta, which songs I'm compelled to sing along with during road trips, and the style of my preferred gun holster." He tipped his head to the side, looking at Clint with clear eyes. "Tony told me you and Nat helped stock my weapons caches around the tower."

Clint fidgeted more. "Tony would've gotten it wrong."

"So you did it right," he stared at Clint intently. "I want you to call me Phil and I want to be able to call you Clint. I think we've known each other long enough for that familiarity, unless I've done something to offend you? If you're mad at me, tell me why. I'm not a mind reader." Phil paused and cleared his throat, "Though I do admittedly now read strong emotions with the whole Guide thing. I try not to actively scan people without a good reason, but some of it is unavoidable." He waved his spoon in the air and then took a bite of pasta.

"I'm not mad at you," Clint crossed his arms.

Phil's bowl clattered as he abruptly dropped it into the coffee table with his fork. "You are mad at me. Why?"

Until confronted, Clint hadn't realized it himself, but the hurt emotions suddenly bubbled out, seizing control of his tongue. "We were a team, you and me and Nat. Sure we all did side jobs, but even apart, we were still Strike Team Delta. Then the Avengers initiative finally happened. And I wasn't supposed to be a part of that. You would have just left me behind to focus exclusively on the Avengers, but then Loki escaped, you died, aliens attacked, and the Avengers adopted me without asking Fury or the World Security Council for permission. We mourned you. We all thought you dead and you left it that way. You abandoned me and the Avengers and went on your merry way."

Expression unreadable, Phil listened to Clint's accusations. "Anything else?" he asked evenly when Clint finally wound down.

"Yeah, I'd like an explanation." Clint jutted out his chin. "I don't think that's too much to ask. You're right in that you weren't just my handler, you were also my friend, one of my best friends who I thought was dead." Clint barely kept back the wetness wanting to pool in his eyes, which just made him feel more upset. No one but Nat and his big brother Barney could make him feel this emotional and off-kilter.

Shadows darkened Phil's eyes as he nodded. "Alright, to start with, you may not have been on the World Security Council's list of possible Avengers, but you were always on mine, Hawkeye. Always." He met Clint's eyes steadily. "As for afterwards, would you have preferred living on the Bus, a plane always on the move as we travelled around the world tracking down rumors of Hydra and individuals with extra-human powers versus living in one city and openly fighting with the Avengers against supervillains and world-wide threats? Think about it."

Clint shifted in his chair. He'd always disliked that kind of constant travel and work, and both of them knew it. He made himself give honesty for honesty, though he didn't even try to keep the bitterness from his voice. It would've been pointless to try with a Guide anyway. "Well, no, but a phone call still would've been nice, a chance for me and Nat to stop grieving and know you were alive and well. Instead, we had to find out months later through the rumor mill and hacked security camera footage. We both had high enough clearance levels, that's how we caught on to the rumors, so that's not an excuse either."

Phil seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "I'm sorry you were hurt. I… I wasn't capable of even a phone call for a long, long time. Fixing me took a lot of time and experimental alien technology. There were drawbacks and complications. It changed both my body and mind in ways I still haven't completely mapped out yet. Not only do I have a new heart, but my stamina and even base scent have become different. Other things too." A bleakness rose in his eyes that made Clint profoundly uncomfortable. He'd never seen an expression like that on Coulson's face. Phil seemed to be slipping away into dark memories.

Reaching out, Clint touched the back of Phil's hand with his finger.

Starting, Phil came back to himself and swallowed. "Whatever the case, by the time I was up and running again, everyone had moved on without me. You were all doing fine. I asked about that first thing. You were all doing fine and I… wasn't. Nick made my survival need to know and gave me a new team and a mission to focus on. You Avengers always seemed busy dealing with bigger and more important things, so he just let it slide. No one wanted to rock the boat when you finally seemed to be doing so well, least of all me. Then you found out anyway when I was stuck on an op halfway around the world. Before I could catch my breath from that, SHIELD imploded and broke my heart."

Phil looked down with a sheen of wetness in his eyes and swallowed hard. Going on instinct, Clint curled his hand around Phil's and squeezed. SHIELD's betrayal had hurt him too, hurt all of them who were good and loyal to the ideals initially codified by Peggy Carter instead of the hidden taint of Hydra.

Great, Clint had come over here to take care of the man and instead he'd driven him almost to tears. Clint ruffled his hair. He had to say something. "Huh, you've been stabbed in the heart twice and not only did you survive, but you're still going strong? That decides it. You're definitely a superhero too. No wonder you fit in so well with all the Avengers." He wagged his brows exaggeratedly at Phil's disbelieving look, making the other man's expression lighten despite himself.

Encouraged, Clint continued. "That's why the Avengers needed you to finally unite them back then and why we need you so much now. You're like that kid on the _Captain Planet_ cartoon with the power of heart. Without a heart to guide them, the other powers don't work right. They're useless."

"You are all far from useless," Phil scoffed, the tips of his ears pinking despite his otherwise unaffected expression, "but… thank you."

"Only telling it like I see it… Phil." Clint had to look down at his knees before the ridiculously pleased look breaking through Phil's mask of control made Clint smile back like a besotted idiot. Once he started he'd be hard pressed to stop.

Clearing his throat, Phil returned to his meal in contented silence.

Clint got comfortable in the chair and watched the fish tank. The movement of the black ghost's stubby little fins on either side of his head was strangely mesmerizing. He wasn't glowing anymore, looked pretty harmless in fact.

Finally Phil put down his fork and sat back with a sigh. "You know, I'm pretty sure that fish you gave Natasha is related to today's trouble with the bruja. All evidence points in that direction."

Clint looked back at the black ghost knifefish. "When I picture the sidekick of a loca bruja, he's not really what springs to mind." Supposedly he'd be more active at night, but right now, the fish seemed content to mostly hide in the cave underneath his plastic castle. He looked completely chill, barely moving his pectoral fins and slowly undulating the fin running along the bottom of his body to stay in place. Clint cocked his head to the side and looked using his Sentinel senses, but nothing special jumped out. It was a fish.

The conversation at the table on the other side of the room had steadily been growing louder. A pointless argument broke out, likely fueled by the frustration of the earlier fight. Clint and Phil had been ignoring the shenanigans by unspoken agreement. Bruce picked up his plate and quietly slipped out of the room. People must have been restraining themselves to avoid Bruce Hulking out, because the argument heated up exponentially the minute he disappeared.

Between one moment and the next, a fork came flying through the air. Clint and Phil instinctively dodged the projectile, rolling to their feet. Bright green pesto speckled the ceiling like a constellation of alien stars. The fork arced over their heads and plopped into the fishtank, splashing water up across the wall and carpet. Drops of both water and pesto speckled Clint's boot.

"Bravo, birdbrain. What are you going to eat with now?" Nat snapped at Thor with irritation. "You better not have hit my fish."

"Better a bird than an insect. Birds eat spiders you know." Thor bared his teeth in what might charitably be called a smile. "As for the fork, I was merely rinsing off your germs."

Surging to his feet, he stomped over to the fish tank with sparks in his eyes and plunged in his arm to the shoulder. Water splashed everywhere, forcing Clint and Phil to move farther out of range or risk getting soaked.

"Hey!" Clint griped.

Instead of just grabbing the fork and stomping back to the table, Thor froze, standing unmoving with his arm fully submerged in the fishtank. You couldn't see his expression from this angle.

"Thor? You okay there, buddy?" Tony asked, slowly getting to his feet and backing away towards one of his weapons caches. "You're not getting possessed by the ninja fish and gearing up to unfairly attack your beloved teammates, are you? Because if so, you really need to change your outfit if you want to look the part of a ninja assassin, maybe put on a pair of black pajamas and wind a tie around your forehead."

"If I was going to attack you," Thor finally answered in his deep baritone, "it would be because you deserve a fist in the mouth, not because I was instructed to do so by a fish." He flashed Tony a hard look over his shoulder.

"You've done stupider things," Tony replied, unfazed. "And your actions right now aren't really filling me with confidence. Is there a reason you're just standing there with your arm in the fish tank?"

Thor raised his nose snootily, "I'm using the allspeak to talk to Albi."

"Seriously?" Nat snorted. "Why?"

"And who is Albi? The fish? But the better question is how," Clint pointed out. "It's a fish. Are you speaking in bubbles?"

Eyes narrowing at the mocking, Thor said, "He uses electrical currents in the water to communicate. It is a rather clever method, arguably more clever than most of you seem to be on a regular basis. He is quite easy to understand for someone with an affinity for lightning and well-versed in the allspeak, which I am."

"Thor," Phil broke in, heading off the replies about to leap off of everyone's lips, Clint included. "Does Albi know anything about today's attack?"

Thor nodded. "Albi felt the surge of magic and expected to be reunited with his mistress. When it didn't happen, he resigned himself to waiting longer in his new cell."

"He belongs to the bruja?" Nat asked, casting a glare at Clint. "Only you would give me a fish stolen from a witch."

Clint crossed his arms defensively. "Hey, it was meant to be a nice gesture! How was I to know the drug runners stole a crazy lady's pet."

"Crazy powerful, if that illusion was anything to go by," Tony pointed out.

Phil frowned thoughtfully. "During the battle, the bruja kept shrieking what we all thought was the phrase, 'I'll be.' She must have actually been calling for 'Albi,' her pet."

"Aren't there thousands of these knifefish where she comes from? What's so special about this one that she'd come all this way for it?" Clint asked.

"Ah, I see," Thor hummed. "Albi was a gift from the bruja's love, a man of higher learning who was forced to leave and return to his country. Albi's mistress marked his head with her powers so the local fishermen would know to leave Albi alone. The bruja keeps Albi close to remember her love by, until the fish accidentally swam too far from the bruja's protections and was captured."

"So a biology grad student who needed to dump his samples?" Nat asked. "He was probably too much of a cheapskate to actually buy the lady something decent like jewelry."

"That's a leap of logic," Tony argued, probably just for the sake of being contrary. "He could have been an explorer or even a businessman."

"Or maybe a prince or desert sheik in disguise," Clint added cheekily.

"If this is a romance novel, where's the bruja's happy ending?" Phil asked dispassionately. His eyes laughed along even though his face stayed unsmiling. "If he's gone, the original owner of the fish may be irrelevant to our current problem. Unless we can find him to negotiate for us, that is."

"Excuse me," Jarvis interrupted, "but considering that the scientific name of the black ghost knifefish is Apteronotus _albi_ frons, the name Albi originating from a graduate student or professor with scientific training does have merit, more than the bruja being the star of a category romance or a businessman visiting the rainforest."

Tony rolled his eyes. "You're my AI, Jarvis. Why do you insist on contradicting me instead of backing me up every chance you get?"

"I am as I was made, Sir," Jarvis answered primly.

Natasha cleared her throat. "If the bruja wants her pet back, I say let's give it to her."

"Good idea, but how would we even go about doing that?" Tony leaned against the wall and scratched his beard.

"Thoughts on how to contact the bruja?" Phil prompted.

"Shove the fish back in a plastic bag and put it out in front of the building with a note saying we're sorry," Clint joked, taking a step back to avoid the glop of pesto dripping off the ceiling over his head. It splattered onto the carpet.

Water sloshed as Thor finally pulled his hand out of the fish tank. "An excellent suggestion, friend Clint! I will fetch a bag." He dripped into the kitchen and beelined for the cabinet of random crap.

"He was joking," Nat said deadpan, eyes tracking Thor's movements.

"I was joking," Clint seconded.

"But the idea does have some merit," Phil said slowly. "If we make a big show of it and she's watching the tower, which is likely, she shouldn't have a problem fetching the fish back and satisfying her quest. At that point, she's hopefully honor bound to leave and return to the Amazon."

Nat frowned. "Even if she notices, she'll think it's a trap and stay away. I would."

"Albi is a token of love lost!" Thor proclaimed grandly, shoving the large clear bag he'd found into the fish tank to fill it with water. "Logic falters beneath the song of the heart, even for a Black Widow, I'd wager."

Nat turned up her nose at his insinuation. "You'd lose that bet."

"Aw, look at that adorable little black fishy face," Tony cooed dramatically, bending over to look into the tank. "Who could resist coming for this little lad?" He straightened up. "If you want a big show, I will give you a big show!"

Jarvis cleared his throat. "In the interest of backing up Sir, I'd like to remind everyone that Tony Stark has decades of experience in showing off. He's an expert at making little things look big."

"That better not have been an innuendo, buddy. I am big a-a-ll over and have the YouTube videos to prove it," Tony bragged, jabbing a finger at the big screen in the living room.

"If you try and turn on YouTube, I will hogtie you to Thor's pesto-splattered chair and shove you and the fish outside with the greatest hits of Menudo blasting on repeat," Phil threatened pleasantly.

"What's Menudo?" Thor asked curiously.

"Latin American boy band who started in the 70s, their rotating cast of members were forced to leave at puberty, most famous for producing Ricky Martin and Marc Anthony," Natasha rattled off.

Tony blinked at her. "Why do you even know that?"

"Because my locker in the Red Room was covered in boy band posters. Obviously." She widened her eyes and blinked innocently.

"If you're going to make a big show to draw in the bruja, you might want to get on that soon instead of bantering. Thor almost has the fish in the bag," Phil said mildly.

Tony pulled out sunglasses from nowhere and dropped them over his eyes. "I could do this in my sleep. Don't make me laugh." He snapped his fingers rapidly and turned on his heel, disappearing down the hall. "Jarvis? I need you to get a few people on conference call for me..."

Less than fifteen minutes later, Thor placed a dripping bag holding one black ghost knifefish on top of a corinthian column draped with red velvet. Beneath the velvet was a heating pad to keep the water from getting too cold for the tropical fish. The column sat in splendor in the middle of the VIP parking area, which had been quickly emptied of cars thanks to the combined might of Hulk, Thor, Steve, and James, who had a lot of fun pushing them out of the way like toys.

As soon as Thor jogged back into the building, fireworks began exploding from the roof. A huge wall of speakers joined in blasting fish songs. Considering the limited catalogue of fish songs available, and that most of them were made for kids, Tony felt that there was a regrettable lack of bass. About a minute into it, Tony's personal party DJ remotely took over the stereo system and let it rip with her remixes.

Long fabric banners dropped from the upper floors on all four sides of the building, unrolling to spell out, "Sorry for the misunderstanding," in at least twenty different South American languages and dialects, plus a few emojis. A minute later, balloons twisted into the shape of knifefish, and where Tony found a balloon artist so quickly was a head-scratcher, bobbed all over the tower.

"I don't know. This might be too subtle to get the bruja's attention," Clint said, scratching his chin.

"Subtle like a brick," Nat drawled. "No way she can miss all that."

Instead of preening, Tony frowned from inside his Iron Man suit. They'd all gotten dressed for a fight, just in case. "They forgot to release the confetti and streamers. Someone's getting an angry memo about that. I'll just have to make do with the rockets."

"Rockets?" Steve blurted, "Are you sure that's a good idea? She might think we're attacking."

Before he finished speaking, rockets spiraled up from the tower, each streaming a different color of smoke from its tail. The rainbow of smoke drifted around the building in a fog, making it harder and harder to see.

"That's not my rockets' fault," Tony said abruptly.

Clint realized he wasn't just being defensive.

The Avengers pressed closer to their observation windows trying to see through the dense layer of fog rolling in from out of nowhere, making the parking lot invisible. "I hate thick fog," Steve muttered. "Even Sentinel senses can get muddled in there unless you're used to it."

"That's why we have the marvels of modern technology," Tony boasted, watching his monitors instead of the windows. Abruptly he pointed at a screen, "The fish bag just moved."

"Do you have eyes on the bruja?" Phil asked, leaning closer, eyes darting across the screen.

Abruptly the sophisticated cameras went fuzzy. All the sensors died. Tony cursed.

Thor clapped him on the back. "Do not feel too bad, friend Stark. Magic can befuddle even the best of machines."

Only a minute later, the fog thinned and cleared away. The pillar was empty. The black ghost knifefish gone.

Tony's machines jolted back on with shrill beeps and whirls. Fireworks started going off on the roof again until Tony cut them off with a curt, "Jarvis."

"Hopefully that satisfies her," Clint said, keeping his bow near to hand just in case.

"The only way to know is if she doesn't come back," Nat answered.

Phil nodded and stepped up next to them at the window overlooking the parking lot. "Until then, we'll just have to wait."


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** Thank you so much to the Guest who left a review cheering me on. It means a lot to me. Thank you!

* * *

 **Not 5 by 5**

by _Indygodusk_

* * *

Chapter 8

"I officially announce the black ghost knifefish situation over and done!" Tony announced two weeks later through the speaker system piped into all of their floors. "We're having sushi tonight and partying. And yes, both attendance and raw fish is mandatory so no arguing _Clint and Steve_. If you don't like it you two can just eat plain rice like peasants. See you tonight."

Phil had to agree with Tony. Sushi was delicious.

Also, they'd had no new signs of _la bruja_ , Albi the black ghost knifefish, or illusionary rainforests. The team could use a relaxing night. With nothing happening, there was no reason to stay on alert anymore.

Unfortunately, nothing was happened with Phil's wooing campaign either. He flirted (albeit awkwardly), he smiled in greeting instead of giving bland nods, and he regularly walked around without a tie so his collar was invitingly open.

While Clint and Nat _acted_ like he was a live grenade, throwing him at the other person and running away in the opposite direction to avoid the explosion, they _felt_ pleasure and attraction when seeing him and heartache as they left. Maybe he needed retraining in his Guide gifts, because the mixed signals were giving him a headache.

It was maddening.

At least his bad mood wasn't an isolated phenomenon. Everyone in the tower had been grumpy lately. Lots of waiting around wasn't good for superheros with traumatic pasts used to regular doses of adrenalin. It made them brood or do crazy things that resulted in property damage and calls from angry officials.

Never a woman who suffered inaction well, Steve took off with her Guide early in the morning right after Tony's sushi party. Phil had hoped they were sneaking in a well-deserved honeymoon, but instead Steve decided to investigate some missing monkeys on an island near where a vessel carrying military grade robotic suits went down. They ran into MODOK.

Before the rest of the Avengers could do much more than start getting excited, Captain America and the Winter Soldier freed the monkeys from the stolen robotic suits, defeated MODOK, and called for a pickup. Clint and Tony had gone in the quinjet and complained on the public channel the whole way back at being no more than glorified chauffeurs.

While they'd been busy with MODOK, Thor had somehow managed to convince Bruce Banner of all people to go out for a night on the town. After drinking the bar dry, they'd gotten lost, stumbled onto a human trafficking ring, smashed it to smithereens, and rescued the victims, in the process destroying a half-mile long stretch of coast and a small fishing fleet. Banner had stayed as Hulk for two days after that, holed up in one of Tony's reinforced media rooms marathoning action movies about Navy battles and sports movies about swimming and water polo until he finally turned human and passed out.

When talk began circulating about the team descending on an amusement park to relieve the boredom and several members got that gleam in their eyes that said the visit would likely turn physical, competitive, and destructive, Phil knew he had to step in. However, for this, he'd need a special kind of help.

"I need you to create a training module for the Avengers, to be implemented as soon as possible."

"Any limitations?" Nat asked, her ennui shedding like water from a sea lion's back as the gleam grew in her eyes.

"No permanent injuries, but otherwise, make it as difficult and brutal as you'd like." The others could take it and he knew it would make her happy.

A genuine grin stretched across her face as she practically bounced on her toes. "You're too good to me, Phil."

Phil couldn't help but smile back. "No such thing, now go have some fun."

Twirling on her heel in an elegant move that hinted at her balletic training, Nat disappeared down the hall and didn't emerge for over fourteen hours.

The next day, Natasha ambushed everyone at breakfast with a squadron of hacked robots. Jarvis refused to help Tony on grounds that training was good for him and deactivating the robots for Sir would be cheating. Spoons, cereal boxes, and oatmeal globs became weapons, along with the traditional knives, guns, hammer, and arrows. The empty fish tank broke early on in the melee,, but no one but Phil really noticed.

Nat's training simulation had everyone running ragged for three days straight. Part of the training had Banner getting unexpectedly attacked by either Natasha or a robot, transforming him into Hulk without much warning for either the team or Bruce. If the Hulk busted out of the training area, or turned on an ally for acting too irritating, the entire team was disqualified.

It had left everyone tired, twitchy, and torn up.

The lunatics all loved it, except maybe Banner. He was still hard for Phil to read, but seemed to go along with the training in a mix of duty and good nature. It did seem to be improving the Hulk's control, or at least the team's ability to adapt to the Hulk whether he was in control or not.

Finally Nat declared the training officially over.

To celebrate her genius, Clint made her a crown out of an empty oatmeal container. Tony stole the cardboard crown an hour later. Blood and circuits had almost been spilled until he come back with the cardboard crown plastered in a King's ransom in precious jewels. Nat had turned up her nose at first, until Tony had shown her the lasers that fired from each jewel. After that, she'd had fun parading around in her crown and zapping the robots Tony kept sending to ambush her. Unfortunately, she started targeting her teammates to see how quickly they'd jump.

Barnes, perhaps calling on old skills as an NCO, managed to successfully herd the whole team out of the tower, sans crown, to watch a Russian epic playing at a small, independent movie theater downtown. Despite complaining, even Tony had come along, and usually nothing could induce him to watch subtitles. The movie had been appropriately tragic and beautiful and nothing had gotten broken except for the theater's overworked popcorn machine. Phil sat between Nat and Clint for the entire movie, ankles and arms brushing, with everyone radiating pleasure and contentment. It had felt positively blissful.

Of course, the next day, Phil's good mood took a nosedive when both Clint and Nat once again avoided him at breakfast.

Retreating to his room to regroup—not sulk, he was too old for that, thank you very much—he called to catch up with Melinda May and his old SHIELD team. It was mere coincidence that he spent most of the call complaining about his stalled love life.

Fed up, Melinda flat out told him to grow a pair, adding, "Just proposition them! Stop pussyfooting around and thinking that naked collarbones substitute for talking."

"Though the open collar's a good touch!" Daisy's voice piped up supportively. Then she ruined it by adding, "Though May's right that you should stop trying to be delicate. You're too good at being inscrutable. If you want them, fight for it by openly saying it. Put yourself out there. The risk is worth the reward, isn't it?"

"Yes, but what if—"

Melinda cut him off, "Phil, just talk to them and stop whining about it. You're almost fifty, not fifteen."

"I don't whine."

The silence on the line was telling.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder," Melinda ordered bluntly, then hung up the phone.

The thought of openly declaring his feelings made Phil break into a cold sweat. What would he even say? "I love you both, please bond with me and share a life with me and ignore how I'm old and boring behind the suit and tie?"

So much could go wrong. What if neither of them wanted a bachelor in his forties? What if he was naive to think that he could provide the missing piece they needed to finally stay together for good? What if they already knew he loved them and just weren't interested? What if the avoidance had been their way of trying to spare his feelings and avoid the awkwardness of rejection?

Though Melinda and Daisy had a point. What if he really was communicating like a fifteen year-old? Maybe Natasha and Clint actually had no idea he was in love with them. Phil hadn't really put his heart on the line. He hadn't made his feelings unequivocally clear. He hadn't risked it all.

Despite a fear of rejection from the one person still living who'd been a part of her past, Steve Rogers had openly declared her feelings and intentions to Bucky Barnes. It had worked out, but Steve hadn't known that when she'd done it. Steve's love and hope had overpowered her fear. Phil had spent his life doing his best to live up to Captain America's example. Just because he was friends with Steve now didn't mean he could start slacking off on his standards.

Phil needed to stop being a coward. He needed to openly and clearly tell Natasha and Clint that he loved them.

The decision made him more curt than usual when he cornered everyone in the training room later that day. "Avengers Assemble!"

Stepping back from his sparring partner, Thor turned with a flare of golden hair and wide grin. "What villain needs smiting, Son of Coul?"

"The ATF raided a warehouse owned by an Italian Count Nefaria with mob ties and accidentally activated a machine that emits fear. Two agents were rushed to the hospital with heart attacks and several more are trapped inside, passed out in the grip of nightmares. They're asking our help to deactivate the fear machine and rescue their people."

Brows arching, Natasha switched out her practice gear for deadlier munitions. "Sounds interesting."

"Hulk doesn't do well with fear. I better sit this one out," Banner said, not joining the others.

"Aw, come on, don't be like that," Tony argued. "We've been practicing Hulk's self control all week. It's not like he's on a diet and we're asking him to enter a warehouse full of doughnuts. I'm sure the green machine will be fine. A little fear won't kill him."

"But it might just cause him to kill you," Phil said mildly, backing up Banner.

"I'll provide technical support from here," Banner said, giving a nod and then disappearing down the hallway despite Tony's objections.

"So where's this warehouse located?" Tony asked petulantly, annoyed at losing the argument with Bruce.

Phil checked the coordinates on his phone. "Looks like it's on the Jersey Shore." Going to his locker, Phil grabbed his ballistics vest and began strapping it on over his shirt, closing the top button of his shirt so the stiff fabric of the vest didn't irritate his skin.

Slamming past Phil, Barnes opened his locker and began grabbing guns, ammo, and grenades. He turned to Steve and muttered almost inaudibly, "Great, it's our anniversary and we're going to Jersey: the sweaty armpit of America."

From the corner of Phil's eye, he saw Steve's face morph from confusion into guilty realization.

Phil thought of the date and barely suppressed a wince. Poor Barnes. As the more sentimental of the two, he'd probably planned something special for Steve tonight to celebrate.

It reminded Phil that even Steve wasn't perfect at communication when it came to relationships. Even Captain America made mistakes and missed signals. It made her both more human and more likable, a woman Phil could related to and call friend. That she tried to not make the same mistake twice is what made her admirable.

"What anniversary?" Nat called out, her enhanced hearing picking up the words Barnes had muttered. She swiveled to stare at the couple probingly. "Not your bonding, we already passed that."

Focusing studiously on his buckles, Phil tightened the strap at his waist.

"It's nothing," Steve blurted.

Barnes kept his face completely calm, but his fingers stuttered briefly at Steve's words. A burst of emotions—frustration tinged with shame—came from the stoic-looking Soldier. His unhappiness lapped like dirty water against Phil's mental shields even though he looked unaffected.

Phil admired Steve tremendously, but she needed to learn how to talk about her personal life with both her partner and her team, to trust the team better. Her brain knew it too, but her heart hadn't quite caught up yet to overrule the habits of a lifetime. Phil was fully aware of his hypocrisy on the issue, but maybe that was why he could see the problem so clearly.

"Oh really?" Nat asked skeptically, her gaze not wavering from Steve's face. "Because James and Phil don't seem to think it's nothing."

Phil sighed and looked up. To think, even in the middle of a spy agency like SHIELD, he used to be famous for his poker face. It felt disconcerting to be read so easily, but then again, he should expect as much from the Black Widow.

Though if Nat could read him like that, why couldn't she read that he returned the romantic interest he could feel from her? That he wanted to act upon it? That he loved her? What was he doing wrong?

Melinda's no-nonsense voice popped into his head, "Not talking, for one."

Steve crossed her arms and cast a probing look at Barnes as they all crammed into the elevator cued for the roof. "It's not nothing, but it's private." The second the words fell from her lips, a look of doom appeared on her face. Steve knew those words were the equivalent of tossing bloody chum into shark infested waters. Both Nat and Tony had an almost pathological need to know other people's secrets.

The corner of Nat's lip tilted up to expose the merest glint of teeth. She rolled the word off her tongue, "Private?"

"Do tell, private how?" Tony leaned against the wall and leered at the couple, wagging his brows.

Thor crossed his bulging arms and frowned at Steve. "We are sworn comrades tempered in battle. You cannot say you do not trust us?"

"Well, nooo…. It's—it's just that… you see…." Steve's hands moved in random arcs through the air, grasping at nothing.

Barnes watched Steve flounder, his negative emotions fading beneath growing amusement at his Sentinel's predicament.

The elevator door opened on the roof and Steve bolted out, practically running for the quinjet, which already had engines warmed up thanks to Jarvis. The rest of the team trotted after her, eager for both the upcoming battle and the embarrassing conversation. It reminded Phil of a hunters on a foxhunt.

Right as everyone climbed onto the quinjet and shut the door for takeoff, the brisk ring of Phil's phone cut through the anticipation in the air.

"You should get that," Steve said quickly, sliding past Phil to sink into her seat.

Up front, Clint plopped into the pilot's chair and started flipping switches in preparation for takeoff.

Suppressing a smile, Phil looked at the phone number. "It's the ATF." Deciding to help Steve out, he put the call on speaker phone. "Hello, this is Phillip J. Coulson, Avengers liaison speaking."

"This is Sentinel and Special Agent Joe Bodine. What a pleasure to hear your voice again, Phil." Bodine's tone dropped into an intimate register, "That invitation for a private dinner is still open, especially for a Guide like you."

Before Phil could answer, Clint's voice interrupted sharply, "Well too bad. You're not private with _Guide_ _Coulson_ at all, you're talking on speakerphone to the Avengers." Clint turned around in his chair since they hadn't taken off yet and glared at Phil's phone. Natasha stepped closer, draping herself against the side of Phil's chair.

Phil couldn't help but enjoy the curl of jealousy he felt from both Clint and Nat, even if it was immature.

"Ah, Hawkeye," Agent Bodine said, unfazed. "I'm glad to hear you sounding fully recovered from your injuries on that op. I was afraid that as a partial, you might lose control of your one good sense and start spiraling into a zone out or coma, but I forgot to take into account your lucky access to a high-caliber Guide like Phil, access normally hard to come by for partial Sentinels like you." His tone was poinsonously pleasant.

Eyebrows lifting as he looked at the reactions to Bodine's little speech, Tony sat down and crossed his legs. "Bodine, if you could stop flirting badly and insulting our teammate and just get to the part where you explain the problem and beg for our help, that'd be great."

On the phone, Agent Bodine seemed uncowed, "The only one I'm begging is Phil and that's for a date. The other purpose of my call is to tell the Avengers to stand down. We don't need you after all."

"What do you mean, you don't need us?" Thor sounded outraged. "Do you care nothing about your downed comrades?"

"The Fantastic Four showed up with speed and professionalism and took care of the fear machine, so everything's now under control," Agent Bodine answered with an edge to his voice, "but thank you for your willingness to respond. The ATF values it's good relationship with the Avengers."

His tone eased back down into flirtatious. "I certainly regret not getting the opportunity to see you again, Phil. Why don't you take us off speakerphone and we can talk about that date without the peanut gallery?"

Phil was almost tempted to do it. He wasn't actually attracted to Bodine or interested in his heavy-handed flirting, but if felt good to be seen as wanted by somebody. Plus, he liked being the focus of Clint's and Nat's attention instead of being treated like a pariah.

As soon as the thought crystallized, his spirit animal Captain lifted his head from Phil's foot and gave him a disappointed look. Chastened, Phil's shoulders involuntarily lifted to his ears. Satisfied, the German Shepherd huffed and settled back down, fading into the background.

Alright, so encouraging Bodine was foolish, immature, and liable to backfire. Phil did know better. He did.

Taking a subtle breath, Phil slowly blew it out and put on his professional face. "Now isn't a good time, Agent Bodine, but thank you for keeping us updated. If any other catastrophes arise that require the expertise of the Avengers, please let us know. Goodbye."

"Until next time, Phil," Agent Bodine said regretfully, lingering over the syllables of Phil's name.

Natasha was casually rubbing her wrist, but nothing she did was ever really casual. Phil kept sight of her in the corner of his eye without being too obvious about it.

"Though if you change your mind," Bodine added invitingly, prompting Nat to shift past Phil, brushing against his arm in passing, "my private numb—" Bodine voice cut out as the call abruptly dropped.

Phil arched one brow at Natasha, but she just met his eyes placidly and then turned to unlatch the door of the quinjet.

As the engine powered down, Clint stalked out of the cockpit.

"What a letdown," Thor grumbled, glaring at his boots as he rose to his feet.

"Yeah, we could have really used a fight about now," Steve said morosely. Looking up, she quickly added, "But I'm glad those ATF agents were rescued quickly. That fear machine does sound pretty awful."

"Jarvis?" Steve prompted, looking at the wall of the quinjet. "Can you please tell Bruce to stand down?"

"Of course, Captain Rogers," Jarvis said.

Standing between Steve and Thor waiting to climb out of the quinjet, Phil felt like a small man. It wasn't a big deal, but after a lifetime of being average to tall, it sometimes struck him all over again. He probably wouldn't even notice except that he was feeling off balance right now. The only person on the plane shorter than Phil was Nat, but put her in a pair of heeled boots or stilettos and even that disappeared. Just as well that he'd learned a long time ago that size didn't always equate to power. The little guy could win, even in the game of love.

Phil just had to figure out how to be one of those winners instead of the loser in the corner. It was just so much easier to be content as a bachelor. Not as rewarding, but easier.

"Stupid Reed Richards," Tony muttered. "Anyone who names themselves Mr. Fantastic is clearly compensating for something." He stomped across the roof over to the elevator, shedding pieces of the Iron Man suit as he walked. They zipped off back to storage.

Snorting, Thor followed at his heels, nimbly dodging pieces of flying armor. "Tell me true, Stark, would you have claimed the title Fantastic for yourself had it not already been taken?"

"No! Iron Man is much cooler and way more metal!"

"What does Iron being a metal have to do with it?" Steve asked, eyes just a tad too wide to really pull off innocent confusion as she exited the quinjet last, as was her habit.

Too busy being dramatic, Tony missed the clues that he was being teased and clapped his hand over his face in disgust. "Rogers you kill me! What is going on with your music education? I thought I was clear on what you should be listening to. None of that big band crap, you need classical sounds like Black Sabbath, Slayer, Metallica, Megadeth, Dio, Led Zeppelin, The Beastie Boys!"

"Beasts!" Snapping his fingers, Thor turned towards the edge of the roof. "I almost forgot! I told my Lady Jane that I would go to the zoo to look at exotic beasts with her today. Contact me if there's another emergency, but otherwise I must be off!" Twirling his hammer, Thor flew off into the sky in the direction of Dr. Jane Foster.

Unfazed by Thor's flight, they waved and piled into the elevator to go back down.

Continuing the previous conversation, Nat goaded, "Tony, no one would call any of those bands classic, more like overly dramatic screaming into a microphone." She arched one red brow at him and sniffed.

Keeping his face even, Phil pictured all the times he'd seen Nat happily shouting along to Led Zeppelin and Metallica during road trips. She was surprisingly good at death vocals.

Tony rolled his eyes so hard that for a moment he looked closer to fourteen than forty. "The only thing you'd call a classic is a ballet score. Newsflash, no one over the age of seven or under the age of seventy actually likes _The Nutcracker_."

"Nat doesn't limit herself just to ballet scores." Phil offered helpfully as the elevator doors open and they all trooped out onto the common floor. "Remember, she said she also likes latin boy bands like Menudo,"

"I was lying." Nat said serenely, giving Phil a subtle smile for keeping her secrets and playing along.

Instead of heading into the living area with the rest of them, Steve touched her Guide's arm. Rubbing roughly at the short blond bristles on the back of her head, Steve tilted her head towards the elevator and down. Barnes nodded. Steve gave him a small smile and slid her hand down his arm to squeeze his forearm once before letting go.

"Guys, we're going to take off," Steve announced.

Moving over to the bar, Tony began making himself a cocktail. "What's the rush, stars and stripes? Unless you need to go and celebrate your _anniversary_." He grabbed the shaker. "Just which anniversary was that again?"

"You never did say," Nat prompted, staring pointedly at Steve as she leaned back against the new couch Tony had bought to replace the one smashed by a startled Hulk during the recent training.

Steve's shoulders stiffened and then went back into a kind of parade rest. "Alright, it's like this," she began laboriously.

The silence stretched as everyone waited for Steve's explanation.

And waited.

"Yes? And?" Tony prompted impatiently, pulling out a bowl of oranges and a knife.

"You're not trying to come out of the closet on really being a woman, are you?" Clint leaned over the bar to snatch the orange slice off Tony's cutting board, narrowly avoiding getting his fingers chopped off, and popped it into his mouth. He spoke around the rind in his teeth, "Because we already did that one last year." Leaning over, Clint spit out the orange remnants into the trash.

A startled look of comprehension shot over Tony's face. He gaped at Steve, dropping the orange in his hand. It bounced across the bar and onto the floor, where it rolled until fetching up against the far wall. Tony pointed a shaking finger and announced loudly, "You're pregnant!"

Then Tony pointed at Barnes accusingly, "You!"

Putting a hand over his face, Barnes started laughing. After a moment he said, "You caught us. It's the anniversary of our pregnancy. One full year with a bun in the oven, Steve once more proving herself a miracle of science without even a bump to show for it."

Steve went bright red and thwacked Barnes hard in the chest. He flinched back, still laughing. Turning to the rest of the room, Steve stridently insisted, "No! I'm not. No. I can't get pregnant."

"That's 1930s sex education talking, Steve! Did no one ever give you The Talk?!" Tony demanded. He turned with waving arms, eyes passing over Clint, hesitating on Phil, and then landing firmly on Nat. "Natasha, you're a woman too. Tell Steve how babies are made."

"You have sex tapes, Tony. I think you can explain that one on your own." Nat answered, crossing her arms.

Waving her arms frantically, Steve stepped forward. "No, that's alright! I know the mechanics! I am married, after all. It's just my body. The doctor's think I'm actually physically incapable of getting pregnant. It's something the serum didn't fix from before, because the super soldier serum was designed with male and not female physiology in mind." She hesitated for a moment, finishing with, "Pregnancy wasn't ever in the cards for me." By the end of her explanation, Steve had gone from flagrant embarrassment to stilted recitation.

The room descended into awkward silence.

Fingers dropping to tighten on the couch at her back, Nat stared with unusual focus at the orange sitting against the wall. "I can't get pregnant either. The Red Room sterilized all of their girls to make sure." She met Steve's eyes. "I'm not saying I'd definitely want to, but I know what it's like having even the possibility taken away."

Eyes locked, the two women shared a moment of wordless understanding and sorrow.

Phil felt sad and angry for them both, and powerless too. He didn't know how to make it better. It wasn't something he'd ever worried about for himself. If one of them wanted a child he could help them find another path, like surrogacy or adoption, but that wasn't what they were saying. Getting them babies wouldn't fix this. He'd do it if it would, but how did you restore possibility and potential? It was too ephemeral.

Clearing his throat, Clint tried to lighten the tension by changing the subject with a return to levity. "If that's not the announcement, than what is? You got matching love tattoos? Please tell me they're little Cupids holding a bow and arrow that look like a chubby and curly-haired version of me." Lifting one leg behind him up into the air like a comma and going up on tiptoe with the other, Clint twisted his body into a ridiculous pose. He squinted one eye shut, stuck out his tongue in boyish concentration, and pretended to shoot a toy bow, trying to imitate a cupid on the cover of a valentine card.

Lightning fast, Nat slapped his inner thigh. Clint wobbled. "Don't get sloppy with your leg extensions. You should be better than that," Nat scolded, shaking off her previous mood thanks to Clint's antics. "I know I taught you better technique."

" _Da_ , _baletmeister_." Sticking his tongue out at Nat, Clint's ridiculous expression and pose abruptly morphed into noble elegance as he shifted into an even more gravity-defying ballet stance that took Phil's breath away. Despite being in combat boots and uniform, Clint managed to get up on his toes while lifting his other leg straight up into the air behind him, arching his chest, head, and arms backward at the same time, almost touching. Tensed muscles stood out starkly all down Clint's body, the tan arch of his throat and curve of his arms an invitation and challenge in one.

Phil's mouth went dry. The man was gorgeous.

"Better," Nat said grudgingly. Running her hand down the line of Clint's leg, she squeezed his thigh once and stepped back. The edges of her lips tilted upward.

Dropping both feet back down to the floor with the lightness of a bird, Clint wrinkled his nose and looked at his boots. "These things are definitely not made for being on pointe, though the stretch on these uniform pants is totally top notch. I still prefer acrobatics and circus tricks to ballet, but," his voice dropped as he shot Nat a look through his lashes, "you're giving me really good flashbacks of that weekend you made me reenact that Dutch ballet."

Eyes going dark, Nat's tongue darted out to lick her plush red lips. "The choreography was rather complicated. Are you sure you remember it all?" she asked archly, the angles of her body curving softly in invitation.

Clint smirked and stepped closer, dropping his eyes to the side in faux bashfulness. "I think I need a refresher, maybe a private lesson with the _baletmeister._ " He peeked up and met her eyes.

"You really want back on the relationship merry-go-round?" she asked with a thread of hesitation.

Clint met her eyed boldly and nodded. "Yeah," he grinned recklessly. "No other ride like it and who knows? Maybe this time we won't fall off."

Lips lifting in agreement and hope, Nat nodded back. "Weeee," she sang softly, leaping on the the metaphorical merry-go-round once more.

Clint laughed, grabbing her and spinning in a circle, making the compact concrete.

Phil couldn't control the sharp pang of jealousy and longing that shot through him at feeling the love, desire, and joy surging between the two people he so desperately adored.

With a pained grimace, he realized that they were probably never going to turn and look at him like that. He'd tried and failed for a year. Perhaps it had been a fool's dream all along. How could Phil Coulson ever hope to become a part of the love that Clint and Nat shared? He'd been deluding himself. Yet he loved them both so much and that was never changing. Where did he even go from here? He couldn't just stop. He didn't know how to give up on someone he cared about.

When Bucky Barnes shot him a worried look, picking up on Phil's spiraling emotions with his empathy, Phil desperately shored up his mental shields to try and keep his feelings locked down. He couldn't think about this now. Later, in the privacy of his room or on a long drive with his car Lola, but now now. Avoiding Barnes's eyes, Phil did his best to keep his expression neutral. He didn't want questions, embarrassment, or pity.

"Congrats on getting together again, but do it on your own time, Baryshnikov and Makarova," Tony broke in. "Let's get back to the big secret of Steve's anniversary. Does anyone know what it actually is?"

Smoothing an escaping auburn lock of hair back behind one ear, Nat stepped away from Clint to look at Tony over by the bar. "Steve's finally telling everyone that she got married last year. Isn't it obvious?"

* * *

AN: The reference to Captain America battling MODOK and monkeys in stolen robotic suits came from a storybook I got from the library for my six year old. I can't remember the name, but the plot idea isn't mine, though I did add Bucky in there.

Also, the next chapter is the last! I'm just editing it a bit more. It should be up later today hopefully. Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Not 5 by 5**

by _Indygodusk_

* * *

Chapter 9

"What?" Clint slapped his forehead. "I assumed marriage was too obvious and tried to think of something more tricky! I should have remembered that this is Captain Secretive, Stoic, and Straitlaced we're talking about."

"Steve also just mentioned being married in her explanation," Nat pointed out. "It was buried in there, but surely one of you noticed it?"

Tony glared at Steve in outrage, demanding attention. "It's your wedding anniversary today?! Why wasn't I invited to the wedding ceremony last year? Or even the reception? We're teammates. You live in my building! I'm sure I could have planned a party way better than whatever lame thing you ended up doing for your wedding. It was probably whatever traditional thing poor people did back in the forties, but you're not poor anymore or living in the forties. You're also not some traditional little wifey, Steve."

Steve's lips pressed tight. "It was rather impromptu. Being married was important to Bucky, so we just went and did it one day." She shrugged and crossed her arms tightly, making her biceps bulge. And her pecs, but they weren't just pecs since Steve had revealed she was a woman, so noticing things like that made Phil feel weird.

Looking over at her husband's flat expression, getting a wash of annoyance and hurt through the bond in response to her words, Steve hastily dropped her arms. "And me too! Getting married was important to both of us, an outward promise on top of the inner bonding of Sentinel to Guide, something special and just for us, because we love and are committed to each other. I'm _proud_ to have Bucky as both my husband and Guide," she stressed, reaching out and squeezing his metal hand, clearly not caring that it wasn't flesh.

"And I'm sorry if he ever thought for even a second that I was ashamed of him or that, because there's not a single shameful inch on Bucky Barnes's entire body and I'd be happy to prove that to him the next time we're alone. He makes life worth living." Steve looked deep into Bucky's eyes and vowed, "I love you. Always."

Bucky's face went soft. His emotions billowed with adoration for his Sentinel and wife. Phil was happy to also feel the underlying forgiveness for Steve's stalling on the issue of telling everyone. Good thing Steve was such a good person who loved her Guide without limits, because she had Bucky Barnes pretty much wrapped around her little finger.

"I love you too, Stevie," Bucky said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that spoke of a lifetime of devotion.

Squeezing Bucky's hand one more time, Steve let go and turned back to Tony. "It's exactly because my marriage was so important that it felt… private. Afterwards, I wasn't sure how to tell you all so I just… didn't. Even though I trust you guys, I still have trouble talking about… you know, feelings and stuff."

Steve pursed her lips. "I also didn't want a big party with a bunch of drunk strangers getting handsy and lots of tasteless jokes about who wears the pants in my relationship or how I'll never be a ' _traditional little wifey_ ,' Tony. I get enough of that as is lately. I didn't mean to hurt any feelings, but my wedding is exactly that - _mine_. It's very important to Bucky and me and not something I want mocked."

Lips pressing together, Tony shoved a hand through his dark hair. "Well maybe it's important to us too because you're important to us. To the team. Did you ever think of that?"

The stubborn tilt to Steve's jaw disappeared as she heard the hurt Tony couldn't quite hide in his voice. Steve's brow furrowed as she extended an open hand. "Tony, you're important to me too. You all are. Honest."

Barnes stepped forward and rested his hand in the small of Steve's back. She instantly relaxed back into the touch. "Look," Barnes said, glancing around to include everyone, "you all know now, so no hard feelings, alright? Steve finally married me a year ago. Yay. The team doesn't have to go down to lousy Jersey today. Double yay. So let's just focus on making the rest of the day a good one, maybe even have some fun, yeah?"

After a moment of hesitation, Tony gave a sharp nod, "Fine, but!" He held up his finger and then jabbed it at Steve, "We're definitely having a party now. It doesn't have to be big or filled with strangers, drunk or otherwise. Not only is your poor husband obviously feeling neglected if he equates not going to Jersey with the joy of marrying you a year ago, but I think I speak for everyone on the Avengers when I say that the rest of us would like to celebrate with you too. We aren't just your coworkers, we're also, dare I say it, your friends." Dropping his finger, Tony tilted his head to the side and added, "Friends who tease. Lighten up Steve and let us be happy with you."

"Steve, you getting married deserves a party and I've been waiting months for you to tell us all about it," Nat said. "We're happy for you. Besides, it's not like anyone else here is likely to ever get married."

"I'm married to you on multiple SHIELD ops!" Clint protested.

Nat rolled her eyes. "No one outside of an op, then. The closest runner up is Mr. Reformed Playboy over there," she nodded teasingly at Tony, "but reformed doesn't mean ready for that level of commitment."

Looking down to fiddle with an orange, Tony gave a mysterious half-smile. "You never know."

Phil felt his eyebrows go up in surprise. "Does Pepper know about that plan? Because she's lectured me before on the harmful patriarchal traditions associated with the institution of marriage and how I'm buying into that with my ordination, even if it was granted through the internet."

Brow scrunching, Tony looked Phil up and down. "Wait, ordained? Like to marry somebody?" Suspicion bloomed on his face. "Why are you talking marriage with Pepper? Wait, were you the one who married the star-bellied sneetches?"

"Neither of their stars are on their bellies," Phil answered placidly. "And I was lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time."

"Why didn't you tell the rest of us?" Tony griped.

Raising one eyebrow, Phil answered, "Because they asked me not to. I keep their secrets, just like I keep yours."

Tony quirked his lips. "Fair point. Okay, second question. Why in the world did you get ordained to marry people in the first place?"

"Well, those online minister licenses never really expire," Phil answered awkwardly, suddenly put on the spot and not sure how much he wanted to admit to.

Nat cupped her chin in her hand and looked at him through her lashes. "I smell a story here."

"Was it for those two scientists on your last team? Aren't they a thing? What were their names...? Nat?" Clint looked over for help remembering.

"FitzSimmons," she answered easily, not looking away from Phil's expression. It shouldn't surprise him that they'd kept a watch on him and his new team just as he'd done with them, but it did. He'd expected out of sight, out of mind. They were the important ones, not him.

The curiosity in the room was palpable, a weight causing cracks in Phil's intention to stay silent. He caved beneath the pressure. "No I... I actually got ordained years ago."

"Why?" Tony repeated, propping his elbows on the bar and resting his chin on his hands, not noticing that he now had orange pulp on his cheek.

Looking down as he straightened his cuffs, Phil squared his shoulders. "You're probably going to laugh at me, but years ago, there was a very credible rumor going around SHIELD HQ that Nat and Clint had gotten engaged and were going to finally get married."

Both heroes exchanged a startled glance.

"Once again," Clint said, "I'd like to point out that I'm already married, to both Nat and Phil actually, because of different cover necessities during SHIELD ops over the years. Also Agent Johansson, but we can't stand each other and got it annulled the minute we returned."

Phil shot him a startled look, "Marriages during ops don't count. Everyone knows that. As long as you signed the paperwork, they all should've been annulled, unless the alias needed to be maintained. Most if not all of those marriages should've been through an alias anyways and pure legal fiction."

Looking a strange mix of indulgent and exasperated, Nat punched Clint in the shoulder. He tried to hide a flinch. Nat rarely pulled her punches. "You used your real name and then never signed the paperwork when the op was done? Really?"

Brow creasing, Phil gave Clint a sideways look. "What happened to the nagging reminders from the legal department? Or the file audits?"

Shuffling, Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "I destroyed or redirected them." He forced a smirk and shrugged, trying to hide his thoughts. "I have copies of the paperwork squirreled away to prove a connection in case I need to blackmail one of you for alimony one day. I have no intention of being a broken down homeless old man when I could rely on my rich husband and wife."

"Aw," Tony cooed. "Clint, that's either incredibly mercenary or extremely sentimental, but getting back to my question, I still want to know why Phil got ordained, especially if y'all were already hitched."

Phil grabbed his courage and forced himself to continue, encouraged by Clint's revelation. "Those marriages were done for work. The rumor of Clint and Nat's engagement was something I thought the two were freely choosing to do out of love and commitment. I was so happy for them and, to be honest, a little jealous. I wanted to be a part of them, part of it, even if only by performing their wedding ceremony. But before I could offer, the rumor was disproven and they broke up." He shrugged unhappily.

Straightening up decisively, Nat drew his eye. "The engagement really was only a rumor, Phil, but do you know why we really broke up that time?"

Clint sent her a look of panic. "Nat, no," he protested.

Nat ignored him and kept her clear gaze locked on Phil. "We broke up because Clint was still carrying a torch for you despite our relationship. We got into an argument about it, and I didn't even know he was keeping marriage licences from ops you worked alone together."

Shaking his head, Phil rewound her words in his head. "Wait, what?" It didn't make sense, it sounded implausible that Clint had cared for him all the way back then, but looking over, Clint's red cheeks and hunched posture seemed to support her story. "You broke up because of... me? I… I'm so sorry." Phil's lips turned down. He'd never wanted to cause any friction in their relationship. He didn't just love them, he loved them together. Acidic guilt soured his gut.

"Of course, I hadn't known you for very long then. I didn't understand," Nat said soothingly.

"Understand what?" Phil asked helplessly.

Tilting her head to the side, Nat sent him a sweet smile. "Who you are. How easy it was to trust you... to come to feel for you what I thought I'd never feel for anyone but Clint."

Phil stopped breathing. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

"Once I understood that, I understood Clint so much better," Nat explained earnestly. Phil felt his hopes mount, only to stutter at her next words. "I also saw that while he and I were good together, the two of you could be even better. I'm not standing in your way. You could still be great together." Nat looked over at Clint encouragingly.

Phil was starting to see what had been going on all these months. He could work with this, could fix things. His heartbeat kicked up in hope.

"Nat… you've got it all flipped," Clint said in a strangled tone of voice, shaking his head in negation. "That's not it at all," he insisted fervently.

Phil's galloping, soaring heart tripped, smashing into a paste on the floor. So Clint didn't love him after all. And Nat was feeling not love, but just loyalty.

He was grateful for the nearby chair, as he had to brace himself against the sharp pain in his chest. "I'm confused," Phil said, working to keep his tone even instead of either descending into tears or picking up the chair under his white-knuckled fingers and smashing it into kindling against the wall.

For once Tony kept his opinion to himself, watching the three of them wide-eyed from the bar with his fingers pressed against his mouth.

Taking a deep breath, Clint took Nat's arm and turned her so they were both facing Phil. "It's hard for Nat to say it, but what she really means is that she's in love with you, Phil."

Phil's emotions jolted again.

Yanking her arm free, Nat glared at Clint with irritation. "I can talk for myself."

Clint ignored her to keep talking to Phil. "You being a Guide now just makes it all perfect. Nat needs the stability and safety of a mental bond. She likes to say she doesn't need it, but the reality is that she thinks she doesn't deserve it no matter how much it hurts. As two partial Sentinels with messed up pasts, love wasn't enough. That absent bond is what keeps us from ever working long term, no matter how hard we tried." He turned to look at Nat with a beseeching expression. "The two of you can finally make it work as Sentinel and Guide. You can be really happy together."

Phil made sure to keep his expression neutral as he braced himself for whatever came next. His brain was beginning to feel like it had whiplash. "Did either of you ever think to ask what I wanted? Who I wanted?"

"It's obvious you love both us," Nat said matter-of-factly with a wave of her hand, pushing Phil off balance all over again. "You're just having trouble choosing. You keep getting distracted, and then every time I go to correct you, I let you distract me with the way you look past my masks and straight into me with those clear blue eyes, or how you walk around with an open collar and rolled up sleeves."

"I don't blame you," Clint said in aside. "I get really distracted by that too. He's unfairly hot." They nodded at each other in solidarity.

Tony made a face in the background, but then tilted his head to the side and proceeded to look Phil up and down like a slab of meat. By the end of it, he shrugged. "I guess if you go for that kind of thing, he does have that attractive older man thing going on."

"He's barely older than you are, Tony," Steve stage-whispered.

"I stand corrected. He's definitely a hot young stud," Tony corrected, sending Phil an exaggerated wink.

"Thanks," Phil said dryly.

Amusement fading from her face, Nat turned back to Phil and stepped forward. "I'm trying to make it simple right now when I say choose Clint to bond with. He's the better bet."

Huffing, Clint rolled his eyes and bumped her with his shoulder. Nat turned, narrowing her eyes in challenge. He tightened his lips and lowered his chin to match her stare for stare. In their silent argument, neither even looked over at Phil, too busy contesting with each other. The energy of the tension between them arced fiercely.

Barnes's snort of amusement turned into a cough when Steve elbowed him hard in the gut. She dragged him over by Tony on the other side of the room. Phil would have to remember to thank Steve later for the space, though he'd prefer if the spectators left altogether. Then again, rubbernecking was a dedicated pastime in this place. At least they were friends.

"Let me see if I've got this straight," Phil said slowly as he focused on Clint and Nat, "you both are fully aware that I'm in love with you?"

Clint's cheeks and the tips of his ears turned bright pink, but Nat merely raised an eyebrow as if to ask why he was belaboring the obvious.

At Phil's look of annoyance and frustration, Nat said condescendingly, "It wasn't like you were exactly subtle about it since you came back and found us both single."

Putting that aside, Phil asked his next question. "And you are both in love with me," Phil examined both their faces for signs of deception or trickery, but found nothing in their eyes but a steady confirmation of his statement, reinforced by the emotions floating through the air. He licked his lips. "Right."

"But that's not important," Clint blurted out, rubbing the back of his neck.

Phil narrowed his eyes, "Why?"

"Because we both just want you to be happy, Phil," Nat answered, the lines around her eyes and mouth too smooth, betraying her tension. "So make your choice."

"I don't want to make a choice between the two of you," Phil said patiently and firmly.

"Oh." Clint blinked rapidly. He looked wounded and trying to hide it. "You're a full Guide. Of course you'd want a full Sentinel to bond with, someone five by five, not a partial. You deserve the best. It's obvious you won't have any trouble finding willing partners. There's no reason for you to get stuck with only partial Sentinels when you could have so much more. Of course you wouldn't want one of us."

Right then, Phil wanted to hurt every person who'd ever hurled the words ' _partial Sentinel_ ' as a slur. He also wanted to bang Clint's and Nat's heads together and then kiss them both senseless. "There is no _of course_ about it. In fact, this entire conversation is _not_ five by five at all. Clear communication has clearly been compromised, because former SHIELD agents and Sentinels should be able to see," Phil looked pointedly at Clint, "and hear," he turned to look at Nat, "much better than this."

Both former agents unconsciously moved to a kind of loose attention, as if they were back in his SHIELD office being reprimanded after an op.

Phil crossed his arms. "Somehow it has escaped your attention that I am a greedy and determined man. I like what I like and love what I love, and even if it takes me years and multiple attempts to get it, even if progress is slow, I don't give up or change easily. Whether it's recruiting someone to help protect others, filling my entire DVR with trashy reality TV shows, or collecting Captain America memorabilia, dark suits, and vintage cars." Phil dropped his arms to his sides. "But most especially, I won't give up on how much I love the two of you. I greedily want _both_ of you, together."

Nat's lips opened on a trembling inhale, starting to understand, but Clint still looked doubtful.

Squaring his shoulders, Phil stepped closer and looked at each of their faces as he clearly stated, "I'm in love with you, Nat, and I'm in love with you, Clint." Phil felt stripped bare, but forced himself to continue. "I see no reason why any of us should be passed over or left behind. Sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough to be with the two of you, but the three of us always worked like magic as a team. If you're willing, I'd love to bond with you _both_."

Clint swayed forward and then jerked to a stop with a harsh exhale. "It isn't done," he said, looking back and forth between Phil and Nat as he fisted his trembling hands against his thighs.

"Isn't… or can't be?" Phil wheedled. "Because I'm pretty sure I can, if you're interested. If you want me, want us."

"What if it doesn't work?" Nat asked softly, hiding her vulnerability behind an expression as smooth as a porcelain mask.

"It will," Phil promised with complete conviction.

Reaching out, Clint touched Nat's arm. The two locked eyes of blue and green, leaving Phil in an agony of suspense as they communicated wordlessly. A furious argument seemed to be taking place in the twitch of a brow, a wrinkling nostril, and the curl of a lip. Their rapidly fluctuating emotions gave Phil no answers, only a headache.

Finally, the storm calmed as they came to an agreement. Clint reached out and took Nat's hand. Lifting it to his lips, he pressed a kiss on the base of her trigger finger. Nat cupped his face tenderly in her other hand and lay a kiss on the corner of his eye just as the sun came out from behind a cloud and bathed their gorgeous, artistic tableau of male and female in brilliant light. The strands of their hair intertwined in that intimate moment, gleaming red and gold like the iridescent scales of a mythical beast leaping from water into the sun.

 _How could Phil ever to fit into that sort of perfection?_

Turning, hands still clasped, Clint and Nat turned their gaze on Phil. He swallowed hard. The open space between them sparkled in the sunlight like a tangible barrier.

"Yes," Clint announced joyfully into the silence.

Nat nodded in agreement and smiled. "We want you, want this."

Expressions turning incandescent at Phil's jubilant smile, they stepped forward, closing the gap and meeting Phil's advance halfway to engulf him in their powerful arms. Pure love swelled and overflowed every corner of Phil's mind.

 _How could he ever fit? Just like this_ , Phil answered himself, closing his eyes and basking in the warm, tight embrace of the two people he loved most in this world. "I love you," Phil said fervently.

"We have you now, and we're never letting you go," Nat said ferociously, tightening her arm around his back so hard it would leave bruises.

"Never," Clint vowed, pressing a kiss to the side of Phil's neck. "Mmm, I've been wanting to do that for years," he breathed, the warmth of his breath fanning across Phil's skin as he began to drop a trail of kisses from just under Phil's ear to the base of his throat.

Phil shivered hard.

"And other things," added Nat's lilting voice as her hand slipped down Phil's back to squeeze his rear.

"You two are playing with fire," Phil warned huskily, letting his hands start to roam across muscles and curves as the heat of pre-bonding hormones began firing in their blood and minds.

Nat reached up to grab a handful of Phil's hair and pulled his head down, giving Clint more access to lick the arch of Phil's neck as she claimed Phil's lips with her own. The soft, lush feel of her mouth was better than anything he'd ever imagined. Phil pulled her up against his side, trying to get a better angle for their kiss. Their lips pressed and slid, getting to know each other. He rubbed his mouth across her lips and slipped just the tip of his tongue inside in a slow glide. Breath hitching, Nat stretched up, trying to make up for the difference in their heights and the awkward angle. She deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth for a languorous exploration.

Clint hummed happily and reached a hand around Phil's back, lifting Nat's thigh up and bringing her tight against Phil's body to give the kiss a better angle. Clint pressed in on the other side, sandwiching Phil in desire as the archer tugged at buttons and zippers on everyone's clothing.

"We're going to be so amazing together," Clint breathed, dragging his lips across every inch of skin he could reach, going back and forth from Phil's collarbones to Nat's straining cleavage with glee, pausing momentarily to press a gentle kiss on the scar on Phil's chest before moving his kisses on to happier things.

"You can't have bonding sex in the public lounge!" Tony called loudly, interrupting them right before the clothes really started to come off.

Phil lifted his head at the reminder that they weren't alone, but couldn't bring himself to relax his grip. His mental shields had thinned to practically non-existent and the emotions he was getting from his two Sentinels were intoxicating. They were already starting to shield him from the emotions in the room too, which felt amazing.

"Well, not unless I get to watch," Tony leered. "Can I call Pepper? Because I bet we could turn this into a real orgy and she'd probably agree if I mentioned who's involved. Also, what better way to celebrate a wedding anniversary than lots of hot sex. Am I right, Rogers? Barnes?"

"Tony!" Steve squawked in outrage.

"We could finally steal Pepper for ourselves," Bucky said musingly as he wrapped himself around Steve's back and rested his chin over her shoulder to look at Tony. "Sure, why not. That could be a fun anniversary present."

Steam practically poured from Tony's ears. "What? No! You do not get Pepper! That joke is old and not funny at all, Barnes," he growled. "What if Pepper and I tried to steal Steve, huh?"

"You'd fail," Barnes answered, winking saucily at Tony and then dropping a kiss below Steve's pink-tipped ear as Phil dragged Nat and Clint past them and into the elevator. The doors closed before Phil could hear any reply, not that he was trying very hard considering the much more interesting things happening in the elevator.

"My bed's big enough," Clint gasped as Phil nibbled on his jaw and dragged his mouth up to trace along the curving bow of Clint's long lower lip.

Nipping lightly, Phil forced himself to pull back so he could press the button for his own floor. "Mine's bigger."

"Oh really," Nat purred, letting her hands wander, "just how big is it?" Her fingers swirled down his chest. "I look forward to the comparison, but I think the only fair thing to do is test each bed one," she walked her fingers down his stomach, "by," a hard jerk loosened his silver belt buckle, "one," and the button of his pants popped off and disappeared onto the floor of the elevator.

With a _ding!_ the door slid open on Phil's floor.

Clint slid around and threw his arms around both of them. "And to add one more yay to the day, we're technically all married so this is sort of like a belated honeymoon, my beloved spouses. With bonding. Lots and lots of fun glutting our senses and emotions on each other soul bonding. Being a Sentinel is the best!"

They all spilled out into the hall and slammed through Phil's door in a flurry of laughter, anticipation, and desire.

* * *

When they finally dragged themselves to the public area for breakfast a few days later, they stepped into the room and were blocked from advancing by one of Tony's robots. About three feet tall and dressed in an elaborate red and gold patterned kimono and lime green obi, the robot's head was a hammered brass disk suspended from a square post by two wires like a gong. A message was written on the metal disk: _Congratulations on bonding_!

Lifting one arm, the robot saluted them.

Phil wasn't quite sure how to respond, but he had a bad feeling about this. Everyone at the table across the room was feeling a little too gleeful and anticipatory. Before he could decide, the robot's arm swung out and then back rapidly as it struck itself in the face. A deep, bell-like tone filled the room.

Instantly the world exploded on every side. Rainbow glitter, confetti, silly string, and streamers burst out of the ceiling, floor, and walls. Escape was impossible, though Nat got the farthest.

As the gong's tone finally died, Thor's laughter boomed through the room, accompanied by the loud amusement of everyone else watching. Phil and his Sentinels were left holding knives, guns, and mini-crossbows in their instinctive attempt to try and fight off the ambushing rainbow. Sneezing glitter out of his nose, Phil shook his head, straightened up, and put his weapons away. Getting clean, however, proved impossible.

"Congratulations on bonding!" everyone chorused from the big kitchen table.

"I'm touched," Phil said dryly, making sure to go over and fluff his shirt next to Tony so some of the mess contaminated him too. A giggling Pepper helpfully reached a hand out to rub the glitter into Tony's beard, repositioning a black sequin on his cheek to resemble a beauty mark. Tony preened under the attention and sent her a kissy face.

Nat smoothed the streamers and confetti out of her hair and shrugged. Instead of looking like a mess, she managed to look like an avante garde fashion model just stepping off a runway.

Clint, on the other hand, had so many rainbow curlicues and strands of silly string hanging off his head and ears, along with his now bedazzled clothing, that he could pass as a cosplayer of _My Little Pony_. "I will get revenge for this," he promised, crossing his eyes and pursing his lips to blow a ribbon off his nose. "My pranks will make you beg for mercy."

"As long as they don't make me green," Banner smirked teasingly, though his face soon mellowed. "We're just happy for you. Felicitations on your triad bonding." He seemed unusually cheerful, most likely due to how Dr. Betty Ross sat very close by his side and held his hand under the table.

Pulling up a chair with Clint and Nat on either side, Phil sat down and looked around. Tony sat with Pepper, Thor with Jane Foster, Bruce with Betty, and Steve with Bucky. Not only was no one sitting alone today, but everyone looked unusually exhausted and blissful.

"I'm surprised to see so many guests," Nat said, putting his thoughts into words. Grabbing a cup, she held it behind herself for one of Tony's roving robots to squirt full of water. "Usually you ladies don't stick around long enough to join us for a meal. It's nice to see a few more female faces."

"They felt disinclined to leave—not that any of us wanted them to—once you started projecting," Tony said archly.

"Projecting?" Phil asked, his stomach swooping.

"It was most extraordinary thing! You projected your bonding, sweeping us all up in feelings of love, lust, and deepest desire," Thor called happily from down the table, lifting a mug in salute. "The entire tower rocked with the power of your emotional bonding, so much so that Lady Pepper had to send most of the staff away to avoid workplace liability. My Jane and I were spurred to new heights by the effect and broke multiple pieces of furniture in the process. It was most glorious!"

"Glorious is an understatement," Clint boasted, stealing Nat's cup and gulping it down. In an act of true love and indulgent afterglow, Nat let him have it instead of stabbing his hand with a knife for the temerity.

Leaning forward, Pepper winked at Phil. "Your stamina was truly impressive. Even Tony has to rest sometimes."

Phil put a hand over his face. "I know I have trouble using my power with precision, but I didn't mean to affect all of Avengers Tower with my emotions!"

Tony sent his bots rolling to fetch more cups, plates, and food. "Eh, don't worry about it. It let everyone watching know that we now have a super powerful Guide on board, since Barnes keeps his gifts mostly under wraps. We all had fun and Pepper was the one who needed rest. Not me." He sent her a mock glare. She rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair.

Smoothing it back down, Tony said, "Seriously Phil. It's fine. People in the tower either left or set up shop for the duration and basked in the glow. My back hasn't been this relaxed since my favorite masseuse refused my bribes and retired. In fact, Thor and Jane's friend Darcy found a love connection on the sixth floor and the two of them rounded up some staff to set up a shrine to you guys in the lobby. Gifts and notes have taken over the entire west wall. There might also be fanart, mostly tasteful."

Phil winced and covered his face again.

"Well," Nat pulled Phil's hand off his face and down to the table, which Clint promptly covered with his own, "if they felt even a fraction of our joy and contentment over the last couple of days, that shrine is completely deserved."

"Definitely. Plus, I like gifts," Clint added cheerfully. The gong robot in its little kimono rolled up and deposited several drinks and scones by Clint's side. "Good timing," he said, distributing them to his Guide and fellow Sentinel.

Phil let go of his embarrassment and let himself laugh. He was happy. There was no shame in sharing that. "Well, at least it was a bonding no one will ever forget. I know I won't." He sent his two Sentinels a smug look which they proudly returned.

"Speaking of which," Pepper said, "the local Sentinel & Guide Center sent you a fancy card saying congratulations and begging you to visit and explain just how you managed to make a triad bond. They sent another note this morning repeating the request and adding the words, at your earliest convenience. The echoes of your bonding affected more than half the city and spread. New York didn't have a shooting all weekend. The media is all aflutter with speculations as to why."

Raising his mug, Thor made a toast, "The Lord Odin is within you, the Lady Freya shines through you, may their blessings twine through your life and bond, that you become like the three roots which together form Yggdrasil."

Bruce raised his mug, "What Thor said, I guess. To Clint, Natasha, and Phil."

"Ditto!" Tony cried, thrusting his cup up into the air.

"Ditto!" everyone shouted joyfully, laughing as they struck their mugs and cups together, fishing out bits of streamers and globs of glitter before drinking.

Through his bond with Clint and Nat, Phil could feel their pure happiness. He made sure to send them both a pulse of his agreement and love through their mental bond. No matter what happened next, the three of them would face it together, carrying with them this time of perfect joy. The kimono-clad robot struck its gong again, the sound waves bouncing through the room, a momentous and indescribable series of tones to announce the start the rest of his life with the people he loved.

THE END

* * *

AN: Thank you so much for reading my story! This thing really fought me a few times. I was trying something very different for me with this trio and I'm glad I finally managed to make it work. It's still longer than I wanted it to be, but I'll continue to work on that skill too. Somehow I've gotten to the end of this with a few lovely favorites, but only a single comment. I'd really appreciate a few words telling me your thoughts on the plot, the relationship, or even just the humor. Thank you!


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